


Mount Ararat

by TittyAlways



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M, Noah are horses, allen is a sunshine boy, equestrian AU, levellier asks too much, linkcant help but fall in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-11-03 02:00:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10957344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TittyAlways/pseuds/TittyAlways
Summary: Link never expected to be saddled with a horse, but when Levellier inherited Neah it naturally became Link’s problem to find someone who could stable, train and generally look after the animal so Levellier wouldn’t have to look at it until it was winning national-level dressage competitions. If he was honest, Link not only wasn't sure how to factor a horse into his schedule, but had no intention ofneedingto.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the equestrian au that no one asked for, not once, and yet here i am delivering. h,eck,,
> 
> i swear im gonna finish wicked witch straight after this im jsut, , ,,, my dude ive been surrounded by horses for over a week now, and i see another ten days of this ahead of me loll so hopefully i'll be able to get a few more chapters written while I'm here

Link missed the turn the first time - he wasn’t ashamed to admit it when he doubled back and discovered the driveway opened off the small back road directly past the bridge. An easy enough place to miss. He wasn’t _going_ to admit it of course, even if he was asked. In the privacy of his own mind, however, Link prided himself on being more than honest.

The driveway was long and winding and had sensible signs marking a speed of five kilometers an hour - even a small speed bump piled up and compacted down. Link was of the impression that this stable would be one he quite liked.

Forcing himself to remain skeptical, Link drove up to the house on the hill and rolled to a stop at the gate, a round sign stylised with a two horses and a boat, and the pasture’s name scripted around the edge. _Ararat._ Link… liked that. He liked the message. Three days of darkness spent searching for a place to take Neah, until finally he alighted on a hill.

The paddocks leading up to the house _were_ the greener side of the fence, and each wooden rail was oiled black in a way that not only served some kind of functionality, Link was sure, but also pleased him aesthetically. No doubt the owner had heard _you should paint them white_ a hundred times but in Link’s humble esteem this break from the norm, and the subtle grace of it no less, left him with a good feeling. Hope. It gave him hope.

With a single breath to collect himself Link opened the car door and stepped out, gravel crunching beneath his shoes. There was a dog barking an alert somewhere and Link could see several horses out in the back paddocks, but once he’d closed the car door he realised he hadn’t the slightest clue in which direction he should go to find the owner or a stable hand or… someone who could point him in the direction of whoever he was meant to talk to. His head told him if he followed the dog’s barking he’d find whoever it was trying to warn, but his gut said walking towards a barking farmdog on its own farm was not the best course of action.

But, left with no better alternative, Link found himself apprehensively ducking to slip between the black-stained railings of the fence and treading down a slight decline to the stable. The barking grew louder, Link grew more cautious, and he rounded the large dirt stalls to find himself facing off with a cattle dog. It was squinting and glaring at him, standing protectively over a boy lying prone on the grass with an arm flung over his face. Link stood stock still and the dog let loose another couple of barks before running a circle around the boy, stopping again to glower at Link.

Link opened his mouth without taking his eyes from the dog and was about to call out to the boy before it barked again and a voice cracked out, sharp and commanding, _“Lavi!_ I swear to god if you don’t _shut up_ I’m gonna kick the shit outta you.”

To Link’s bemusement, the dog immediately quietened and flattened its ears back, shot Link another squinting glare before it rounded the boy again and nosed into his shoulder, huffing reluctant contrition. Running counter to his sharp threat, the boy lifted his hand to the dog’s ruff and scratched him fondly until the dog pressed its head up under his chin. It seemed to forget Link for half a moment, but as soon as its squinting eyes were open and pinned on him again a low growl started building in its throat.

“Um,” Link coughed politely and the boy shot to sit up, shoved the dog away with the movement and whipped his head around, bewildered. “I’m here to meet with Cross Marian,” Link said into the boy’s shocked silence, watched him quickly blink away his surprise and push himself off the grass to stand.

“He’s, um,” the boy started and abashedly ran his hand through his loose, messy ponytail, “he’s not here.”

Link blinked a frown away and reached for his phone, intending to check his calendar. “I’m certain this is the date we arranged,” he stated and the boy gave an awkward laugh.

“Yeah, well. It probably is. Cross is just… like that,” he offered with a sheepish shrug. Despite how he picked himself up and straightened his shoulders, Link couldn’t drag his eyes from the blades of grass stuck in the boy's messy auburn hair. He couldn’t really bring himself to mask his doubt when the boy stated professionally, “There’s no need to reschedule - anything you need to discuss with him can go through me.” A beat passed and there was a flicker of silver eyes being physically restrained from rolling before he added, “Considering I practically run the place anyway,” with a begrudging scowl cast to the dog standing tense and territorial by his side. Link was beginning to think it had a chronic squinting problem, but at a second glance he realised it was _winking -_ it was squinting one of its eyes closed and didn’t seem to know quite how to open the other independently.

“Is there something wrong with your dog?” he asked, and only realised how tactless that was when he saw the expression on the boy’s face flicker from confusion to mild offense.

He shot a quick glance down to it before defending, “He’s fine,” a touch too firmly.

Link, trying to backtrack, gestured to his own face and tried to explain, “His eyes are all…” and found he was only digging himself a hole when the boy’s frown deepened.

“Yeah?” he stated like he didn’t get what Link was trying to imply, “cause he’s missing one?”

“Oh,” was all Link could say. He glanced down at the dog’s squinting face, up at the grass stuck in the boy’s hair, and out to one of the horses in a nearby paddock. Clearing his throat against the awkward silence spreading between them, filled with bird calls and the sound of a distant tractor, Link asked, “Do you have… an office, or…?”

The boy blinked, subdued irritation quickly fading, and he glanced around as though a desk to miraculously appear. “We have a stable?” he offered a abashed laugh and turned to trek up the small hill to the open walkthrough of the barn.

Dry but unsurprised, Link allowed, “That should suffice,” and followed him up.

It was cool and dark inside where the bare concrete floors leached warmth from the shade of the high tin roof, and Link tried to ignore the dog jogging dutifully at the boy’s side. There was a radio playing, some pop station, and the boy reached out to dial it down while he stretched for an electric kettle. He was just tall enough to flick it on, and it was only once it was boiling that the boy glanced over his shoulder with a polite smile and asked, “Would you like some coffee?”

“It’s four in the afternoon,” Link stated, confused frown pinching his brows.

He stilled at that, glanced down at his wristwatch in disbelief and made a small sound of distress. “About the office…” he started, glancing up sheepishly, “care to have our meeting while I bring everyone in?"

Link was beginning to realise with a growing sense of disappointment the pretty exterior of the property was certainly being undercut by the lax attitude of its employees, but all he said was, “Of course,”  because Cross Marian had a _reputation_ in the equine community and while Link was only looking for pasture and a reliable trainer, it hadn’t exactly been _easy_ to lock this meeting in. Evidently he hadn’t succeeded in quite the way he’d intended, but leaving now would be wasted effort and what remained of Link's skeptical hope told him it might beneficial to see how this boy handled the horses in Marian’s stead.

He hummed distractedly and stretched up on his toes to glance through a barred stall window, out at one of the paddocks. “Still time for coffee though,” he determined and dropped back down, turning with a grin. “So, was that a ‘yes’?”

Link, too polite to say no twice, inclined his head slightly and muttered, “Thank you,” while the stable hand went back to the kettle and pulled two dusty-looking camp mugs from the shelf.

Link jolted when he felt something brush against his leg and tore his eyes away from where he was watching the stable hand spoon instant coffee into the cups with veiled disgust. He glanced around almost frantically with his heart thumping when there was nothing by his feet and behind him he found a large black cat watching him with unwaveringly intense eyes. Link swallowed back the surprise of its touch and murmured, “Hello,” down at it and it rubbed its head against his calf, arched its back and pressed up against him. His mind went straight to the fur it was likely shedding all over him, but Link’s slacks were black so at least it wasn’t leaving a noticeable mess.

“That’s Kimmy,” the stable hand commented lightly and Link glanced up to find him watching with a small grin, stirring milk into the coffees.

“Well,” Link said, clipped, and dipped down to scratch behind the cat’s ears, silently thrilled when she purred loudly and arched into his hand, “at least I know the cat’s name.” He cast a pointed look to the boy, who at least had the shame to look embarrassed by the oversight.

“Allen,” he offered with a rueful grin and a steaming coffee. “And you are…?”

“Link,” he supplied, straightening and accepting the mug, and brushed the dust from the cat onto his trousers.

Allen’s eyebrows arched in amusement and he asked, “Is that a first name or last?”

“Last,” Link answered, and didn’t bother to fill the expectant half-second of silence. Well he _did_ , but it was with a sharp bark of pain rather than a more thorough introduction. He jerked away and the cat was dragged along for a few steps before she retracted her claws and dropped into a crouch, her unnervingly steady eyes never leaving Link’s face.

He shot a frantically confused glance to Allen, who managed to look concerned for half a moment before snickering a laugh and waving it off, moving out of the stable back the way they’d come. “See, that’s why I don’t pet her,” he reasoned happily, gesturing for Link to follow. “She gets attached.”

Dry, he muttered, “You’re not being figurative, are you,” and hurried to follow when Kimmy’s tongue darted out like a threat.

Holding his coffee steady, Allen marched easily down the incline to the paddock of a large dark horse who stood with his head high and his legs resting. “So,” Allen began and dipped his head to sip from his cup before he balanced it atop a fence post by the gate and stooped to pick up a halter from the grass, “were you looking to train someone, or get trained yourself?”

Link hid his skepticism when he gave Allen a once-over, took in his rumpled shirt, stained jodhpurs and muddy steel cap boots. “I’m looking for a place to board a horse,” he stated and glanced down at the coffee in his hand, unwilling to drink it.

Allen paused and shot him a curiously contemplative look before ducking between the railings and clicking his tongue sharply. The horse, which had been watching them imperiously from the other side of the paddock, lowered its head and began plodding over with slow, stiff movements. While he waited for the creature to meet them, Allen said, “The Earl - this guy here - is the only horse we _board.”_ He rolled and stressed the word for a strange kind of implication and Link straightened his shoulders, not certain of the insinuation. “He’s Sheril’s old horse - he’s also keeping Lulu here,” Allen caught the Earl’s nose in an outstretched palm and ran his hands up the old horse’s face to scratch his fingers behind his ear, pointed without looking to the next paddock over where a tall golden mare with a light mane and tail grazed placidly. “No-one rides the Earl,” Allen explained and smoothly slipped the halter over the old horse's nose and ears, clipped it quickly under his chin. “He’s all arthritic - Sheril just wants him to live out his life.”

Link frowned lightly, trying to grasp what exactly Allen was saying. “So you ride the rest of them?” he guessed and ran his teeth along the inside of his cheek when he tried to calculate that into the budget.

“I work the rest of them,” Allen agreed, though the slight stress on _work_ implied it was a correction. Lead looped loosely in his hand, guiding the Earl with a grip close under his jaw, Allen unlatched the gate and led the horse through. He paused to pick up his coffee in his free hand and continued to explain as he lead him up the hill. “Tyki, Bond and Wisely,” Allen listed names that meant nothing to Link, “belong to Cross, so I train and ride them. Road and Lulu belong to Sheril, so I longe them on days he wants them to be worked, and prep them on days he wants to ride.”

Link hummed into the sound of the Earl's shod hooves clapping on the cement of the barn and flipped open the file he’d carried in under his arm. Information on Ararat, their services and costs, as well as Levellier’s overall monthly budget for the animal. “How much would it be to have you train and ride him while he stays here?” Link asked and placed his untouched coffee on a nearby shelf.

Allen gave a long contemplative sound and rolled open the gate to a stall stacked with hay bales. Link watched in confused surprise when he led the Earl through and out into one of the large dirt stables he’d seen from outside, the horse not once stopping to steal a bite. And here Link had thought they were menaces for grazing - but as soon as Allen flicked the lead over the beast’s back and turned to lock the gate to the store behind them, the Earl plodded over to a net hung from the rails of his stall and began tugging strands of hay from it. So… it just… _knew?_ Huh.

At length, while he turned back to unhook the halter from around the Earl’s chin and slipped it off him between bites, Allen answered, “About three hundred a week. Two if you only want him longed, probably around five hundred if you want Cross to train him personally.”

“Three hundred for you to ride him?” Link confirmed, pulling a pen from his pocket.

“Sure,” Allen shrugged and slid beneath the rails of the stall back towards the paddocks, forsaking having to open the gate again.

Link quickly penned in the figure and hurried back around the way he’d come to tail the stable hand while he moved on down the hill to the next paddock. Moving down his list, he asked next, “I’d expect him to be stabled - as well as is reasonable. And if you could handle his diet too, that would be ideal.”

Allen shot him a strange look, almost suspicious, and dipped to pick up a halter from outside the palomino's paddock. He took a long mouthful of coffee and put it up on the fencepost once more, slipped through the rails and held up the halter where Lulu could see. “Forgive me my confusion,” Allen said, his tone suddenly more formal, his shoulders almost tense, “but it almost sounds as though you’re asking me to _own_ your horse for you.”

“It’s not my horse,” Link refuted automatically and watched as Allen jangled the halter a little to make a sound, to which Lulu perked her ears and lifted her head lifted from the grass.

“Whose is he?” Allen countered, eyes not leaving Lulu as she picked careful, delicate steps towards them.

Stiffly, Link explained, “My boss was gifted a horse of exceptional breeding. Neither he nor I ride, but he has no intention of wasting the animal.”

Allen hummed and Link bristled slightly under the realisation that he was being _judged,_ but Allen only brushed his hand up Lulu’s nose when she came to a halt before him and he rubbed at her brow for a moment until she dipped her head and butted lightly against his chest, chuffing. After a few seconds of silence spent putting her halter on, Allen finally turned to face Link and said as he led her to the gate, “If you’re not _wasting_ him, what are your intentions?”

Link stepped back hurriedly when Lulu snorted and huffed in his direction and stated with as much poise as he could muster, “Levellier intends to have him trained and competing in Elementary Dressage within two years - and Prelim and Novice tests as soon as possible.”

“And who’s going to be competing him?” Allen asked as he passed, probably just to have a dig.

“Whoever can, will and wants to,” Link answered primly.

“So,” Allen scoffed, leading Lulu up the hill to a smaller dirt stall on the other side of the stable, “no-one, as yet.”

“When it becomes relevant,” Link sniffed, following him, “we will find someone.”

“It’s relevant _now,”_ Allen stressed and led her in, latching the gate behind him, “because if I’m training a horse and I don’t know who I’m training him _for_ , you’re going to end up with a last-minute rider who doesn’t know him front from back.”

Link lifted his chin, jaw tight, and stated while Allen removed her halter and gave her brow another firm rub, “That will remain my problem.”

Link was quickly getting sick of all these skeptical, strangely judgemental looks coming from a boy who he’d found napping on the grass. But Allen shrugged and didn’t make a snide comment like _w_ _hatever,_ despite how clearly Link read it in his eyes. Link could at least thank him for small sensibilities. Instead, Allen asked, “What’s his name then?” while already ducking out of the stall and heading back down the hill. “You said you knew his lineage? Who sired him?”

Following, Link flicked to the next page, answered, “Neah,” and almost ran into Allen when stopped dead and gave him an openly scathing look.

“Your horse is called _Neigher?”_ he demanded and Link quickly held up a placating hand, already shaking his head to refute it.

“No - _no,_ not- his name is _Neah,_ N-E-A-H. Neah D. Campbell.”

This also seemed to give Allen pause, but more of genuine shock than offence to his horsey righteousness. “Campbell?” he asked and reached out to tug the file from Link’s hands. His eyes scanned the page, lips moving as he read, and he paused over a name. _“Huh,”_ was all he said and let Link wrench the file back.

Without further hesitation, Allen shrugged easily and turned back to follow the path leading between two rows of paddocks while he agreed without further ado, “Yeah I’ll take him. If he’s anything like his dad he’ll be a right pain, but I’ll take him.”

“His sire?” Link frowned and scanned down the page, eyes settling on the small print. “You’ve worked with Tai-ki Mikk?” he asked, squinting as he tried to pronounce the name. Horses. Horses and their weird owners, giving them weird names. What the heck was a _Tai-ki_ _,_ anyway?

Allen threw his head back and laughed, corrected, “Tyki,” like it was meant to be obvious and pointed into the next paddock at - Neah.

Well obviously _not,_ considering Neah was still in his home pastures miles away and, from the specifications Link had, was a couple of hands shorter - not to mention Link didn’t believe a six-year-old could possibly be that _big._ And… well. Where the Earl and Lulu had been patiently going about their horsey business until Allen arrived to round them up, this Tyki character took one look at the auburn-haired boy, flicked his intelligent eyes to Link and lifted his head obstinately, ears angling back into an assertive glare.

“He’s beautiful,” Allen said, smug and proud in a way that translated more accurately as _he’s mine_ and Link glanced doubtfully over Tyki’s bulk. He was certainly… big. Big and, Link supposed, clean-looking. Link wasn’t one for judging beauty on much any scale, and horses were foreign to him to say the least. Tyki wasn’t delicate like Lulu, and there was far too much arrogance in the way he watched them from the other end of the paddock to suggest he had any regality to him like the slow, deliberate movements of the Earl. He looked big and kind of clean maybe and he looked like he wanted to fight. Link was not betting on the hundred and thirty pound boy slipping between the railings of the fence, holding up a halter like a red flag.

Tyki stood stock still facing Allen and didn’t approach like the others had. Didn’t approach him at all, in fact. They just stayed there for a moment, facing off silently across the grass. The moment Allen shifted as through to take a step forwards, Tyki snapped his head down and lunged with the momentum, kicked his powerful back legs out and started off in a sloppy gallop along the fenceline, tossing his head in a huff.

Link watched in compelling interest as Allen’s shoulders loosened with momentary defeat before he lowered the halter and lifted his head, shoulders straight and strides determined when he set off into the middle of the rodeo ring.

Tyki stopped his rampage when he came to a corner of the paddock, perked up and watched Allen approach. His ears flicked, alert, and Link was impressed by the way he seemed to collect himself. All his massive, shiny black-brown bulk refined itself into something with posture, with _poise_ as he watched Allen come closer.

 _“Tyki,”_ Link heard the boy call, low and threatening. The horse’s ears swivelled to fix on him and he took one step as though preparing to turn his back. “I swear to god,” Allen growled, “if you show me your ass I’m gonna kick it.” Tyki hesitated and ears flicked as though he was determining if Allen would make true on his threat. Not that Link believe the horse understood the _words_ , but the sentiment? Well if he knew Allen half as well as Allen seemed to know him, he was probably familiar enough with this situation and could make a pass of judgement better than Link.

Tyki’s ears twitched back in that stubborn, arrogant expression of contempt once more and when Allen held up the halter he threw his head down and took a single kicking lunge in the boy’s direction before whirling and doubling back to his corner, his flank facing Allen while his ears stayed tilted back and his eyes remained locked on him. Allen didn’t flinch once, simply kept taking slow measured paces towards the fidgety animal, the halter held out clearly for Tyki to see.

Allen, nonchalant, threatened breezily, “I mean, if you fancy staying out here all night again then be my guest.”

The horse’s orange-beige nose twitched and his lips moved like he _knew_ what that tone meant. Allen stopped walking, stayed there watching Tyki and waiting for the horse to make a move. After a long stretch of stillness Link saw the moment Tyki’s ears lost that aggressive tilt to them, the moment he dipped his head from its haughty position and he took a single reluctant step forwards, then another. With a bitter huff he butted his head hard against Allen’s shoulder and Link felt his eyebrows creep up his face at the realisation that the hundred and thirty pound boy had just bested a one thousand three hundred pound horse in a game of arrogant stubbornness and watched in mild surprise as Allen stroked his hand down Tyki’s dark neck and found a spot there to scratch.

Tyki butted his head roughly, shoving Allen back a couple of steps, but Allen raised his hand with a sharp, angry sound and Tyki backed off from him, tossing his head. It took a moment for Allen to get his halter on, and once they were walking back to the gate Tyki seemed to think it would be fun to jerk his head up and down until Allen repeated his gesture and sound - and this time, them facing him, Link realised it was a threat to strike him. That’s it. Allen was threatening to beat up a horse ten times his weight and four times his size and the horse was _listening._ Tyki only shook his head with a long, huffing snort after that and let himself be lead.

As they drew closer, Link realised he might understand what Allen had meant about him being beautiful. His mane was long and pretty for all it was tangled from being out all day, and his short black-brown coat gleamed beneath the dust he’d been rolling in such that Link hadn’t even noticed the dirt from a distance. Link had been wrong to think he didn’t have a regality about him. An obstinate, ornery regality, but one somehow unhampered by the way he’d been bridled by the small boy leading him. Like he’d _let_ it happen, and he knew Allen knew it.

And _that_ was the beast that had sired Neah. Lord help them.

“Bad day?” Link asked awkwardly, nodding at Tyki who put his ears back in that trademark expression and harrumphed as though he knew he was being talked about.

“Bad egg,” Allen corrected with a roll of his eyes and reached around to unlatch the gate. Tyki struck his hoof out to paw the ground and Allen didn’t hesitate with the sharp slap he struck against the horse’s chest. Tyki jerked his head back and snorted, but settled and eyed Link almost condescendingly when he was led through the gate, steps high and contained, head jerking as much as Allen would let him get away with. “Don’t walk too close behind him,” Allen instructed with a shrewd glance over his shoulder and Link eyed those well-muscled legs, decided he'd rather not learn what it felt like to be kicked by them if he could help it, and allowed a fair head start before following them up the hill.

“So…” Link trailed, watching Allen swipe his coffee from atop the fence post outside Lulu’s paddock, “you’ll take Neah. Just like that?”

Allen snorted a laugh similar to Tyki’s chuff and lead him into the barn, through an open stall hung with rugs and boots that Tyki sniffed and nipped at while Allen unlatched the gate. “Neah was Tyki’s last son before he got gelded, if I remember correctly. Call it curiosity,” he laughed again and tugged Tyki away from the tough horse rug he was nibbling at to direct him into the stall. He closed the gate behind them and Link followed him to watch while Allen removed Tyki’s halter and let his hand trail along the horse’s supple neck and and flank when he turned and nosed towards a yellow bucket in the corner. “Depends how far you want to take him, and how far he wants to go,” Allen hummed, eyes on Tyki while he kicked at the bucket and nosed to tip it over before flipping it back up as though expecting food to magically appear in it, “but by the time Tyki was ten I had him competing Grand Prix.”

Link frowned a little and glanced between Allen and the horse before stressing, _“You_ had him in Grand Prix?”

Allen huffed a sigh and dropped his hands from his hips, moved back towards the gate Link was watching over and pulled it open to slip through while he reasoned, “Well, he belongs to Cross. But how’s he expected to train him if he’s never _here?”_

While Allen latched the gate, Link peered over at Tyki and watched him dig sharply at the ground and snuff in the dirt before he tossed his head and resigned himself to the half-empty hay net. “Did he do well?” Link asked, wondering just how good a show the willful animal could put on. But Link had seen that moment of collected pride, of poise. He thought, with tack and a bit and a rider on his back, Tyki might have been able to act the part.

But Allen snorted a laugh at his question and drank the last of his coffee before saying, “He scored perfect tens for his walk that first year - and consistently better gradings since.”

“You trained him,” Link repeated, looking back at the slight boy and his messy red hair, his smug, cocky smile.

Allen shot a glance over to Tyki and his grin gentled at the corners when he said, a touch fondly, “I practically raised the fucker.”

Link stayed silent for a moment and wondered if it was something he should respect Allen for. With a quick glance around the stable - the bridles and halters, the rugs he couldn’t tell head from tail and the odd-looking boots, the rusty fridge and steel shelves that settled for a kitchen - Link decided respect was a delicate word with far too many nuances to its meaning. He could appreciate the fact that Allen even knew what to _do_ with half the tack, and he could certainly appreciate training a horse to such a high level - even if he had no knowledge of dressage, competing or an indication of how difficult that might be. And he could appreciate that Allen somehow managed to placate a horse that had bucked and galloped around the paddock before allowing itself to be bridled. So… respect was a high bar. But Link could certainly _appreciate_ Allen and the way he settled for instant coffee and demonic cats.

Link warily eyed the black shadow of Kimmy, perched high up on the hay bales stacked in the next stall. She blinked at him slowly and Link blinked back. She was gone when he opened his eyes and he tried not to let that get to him, glanced back at Allen who seemed reluctant to pull himself away from Tyki’s stall.

“Do you need to bring in the rest?” Link prompted and Allen pushed away from the gate with an easy shrug. “In a bit,” he allowed and brushed past Link and out of the stall. “The others are all staying at the lower stables, and once Tyki’s in there’s no rush. When he wants dinner he gets pissy and stirs everyone up,” Allen rolled his eyes and went to the fridge, knelt and pulled open the bottom drawer, weighed heavily with carrots.

Link asked drily, “That wasn’t pissy?” and Allen laughed.

Three carrots in his hand, he reasoned, “If he were any better behaved than that, I’d wonder if he was sick,” and stood, heading back to the stall. He rapped the carrot on top of the gate to catch Tyki’s attention and held it out for him when he circled around slowly with a loud huff like it was a _chore_ to accept a treat. With great ceremony and something like indulgent reluctance, Tyki mouthed at the carrot and took half into his mouth, long yellow teeth flashing behind his lips. Link withheld his grimace and Allen snapped the carrot off once Tyki had a grasp of it, the horse immediately making to take the rest. Allen pulled it out of his reach, scolded, “Chew what's in your mouth first, idiot,” and held Tyki’s glare until his jaw started working and Link heard the carrot crunching between his teeth. Without looking back at Link, Allen prompted, “So tell me more about Neah,” while he offered the rest of the carrot to Tyki.

Dutifully, Link flipped open his file and listed, “He’s six years old, fifteen hands tall - looks a lot like his sire, but shorter and with less bulk. He’s recently been gelded, was broken at three years, trained to novice level in dressage but never competed. His previous trainer’s report says he seems to be…” he squinted at the text, “spirited but sensitive.” Allen snorted a laugh and rubbed a hand at Tyki’s brow until he tossed his head and wandered away from the gate. “What’s funny?” Link asked, closing the file with a frown.

Allen shook his head and stepped out of the stall, moving towards the Earl’s stable and pulling out the second carrot. Voice coloured with amusement, he said, “That’s horse-person speak for ‘he’s a right dick’. Didn’t expect anything less, honestly,” he laughed.

Hesitantly, Link ensured, “You’ll still take him?”

“Of course,” Allen grinned and broke the carrot off in the Earl’s mouth. “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“That’s,” Link started and paused, considered before he settled on, “reassuring.” After a moment’s thought he added, “Will there be any other costs to be expected?”

Allen fed the Earl the end of his carrot and arched a brow at Link over his shoulder. “For a _horse?”_ he stressed and laughed, “Yeah, a few. Plus fifty a week if you want us to feed him, tack if he doesn’t have any, _new_ tack when he grows out of that stuff, same with rugs - I’d suggest boots but only if he’s prone to kicking. Vet bills if he hurts himself - I’ll take care of treating him, but you’ll be paying out the nose for it. We’ll get him shod for you but that’ll be a monthly fee - about a hundred and thirty dollars. And…” Allen cocked his head as he thought, deaf to the sound of Link’s mind fracturing at the prospective cost of owning a horse, “I guess Cross would usually fine you if he causes any property damage, but he’s not here to see it and I take personal reparation out of his income whenever I have to fix something.”

“That’s illegal,” Link muttered distractedly, still trying to recalculate the monthly budget for Neah as well as the possibility of setting aside an emergency fund for medical expenses.

“It isn't if we share accounts,” Allen shrugged noncommittally.

“Yes it is,” Link corrected, but frowned and looked at Allen, began asking, “Why do you have shared- no, never mind, that’s not my business.”

Allen’s face crumpled into one of vile disgust and he refuted, “No, actually, that’s disgusting and I’d rather _make_ it your business than have you think... _that.”_ Link defensively moved out of the way when Allen brushed past, the last carrot in his hand, and he went back to that barred window he’d looked through earlier. When he tapped the carrot on the sill, Lulu swung her head into view and sniffed through the bars while Allen explained, “I’m not twenty-one yet so he’s still technically my guardian, and that means he can still technically waste all the money I make for him if I don’t get it cash-in-hand and keep it in a safe.”

“You keep your money in a safe?” Link repeated doubtfully.

Allen’s silence was punctuated by him snapping the carrot between Lulu’s teeth before he said at length, “He stole the safe.”

Link let that sink in for a moment, tried to rationalise it to the image the articles and interviews and equine-niche media had painted of the prestigious trainer, and realised he probably shouldn’t be surprised. But still… stealing a safe wasn’t going to get him far if he didn’t know the combination. Link tried not to think about how the theft might have gone down. “That’s,” he said at length, frowning at the stray hairs curling down from Allen's high, messy ponytail, “unfortunate.” Allen made a sound of disgruntled agreement and Link cleared his throat to steer them away from that line of discussion. “I take it you’d like to arrange payment before bringing the horse in?”

Allen shrugged, unconcerned while he rubbed at Lulu’s forelock and allowed, “Whatever works. When are you moving him?”

Somehow this sat uncomfortably with Link, the willingness with which Allen seemed to jump into this arrangement. It wasn’t at all how he usually conducted business on Levellier’s behalf. There should be a week of dallying, discussing, bartering costs and exchanges in all manner of formality. This was… rudimentary. It felt like jumping in blind and the notes Link had jotted on the file weren’t much comfort, felt like nothing compared to the security of block print on a screen in an email agreeing to the negotiations outlined in an attached file. After a moment he said carefully, masking his hesitation with the air of professionalism he adopted in meetings that usually went nothing like this, “Neah is fine to remain in his current stables for the rest of this week. If you could email me an invoice for board, training and feed, I’d like to discuss your prices with my boss. He may want to come and inspect the property himself,” he wouldn’t, he really wouldn’t bother, “and look at a few other options,” there weren’t any, not a single property or pasture that Link was inclined to let a _cow_ graze on, let alone a fifteen thousand dollar horse, “and I’ll get back to you in a few days with a response.”

Allen had turned and was watching him patiently, a polite smile on his face while he listened. “If it’s easier,” he said once Link was finished, “I’d prefer to text. I’m not connected to Cross’s email and when he finds out I booked Neah he’s going to have a fit - I’d rather he found out the old fashioned way by refusing to answer my calls and yelling about ‘that demon horse’s progeny’ when he comes home to my face rather than to you.”

“How…” Link searched for the word, “kind.” After a moment he ensured, “Is it really okay for you to make this decision? Perhaps I could speak to Marian myself and arrange it through him.”

Allen scoffed a laugh and leaned against the wall, heedless of Lulu lipping at his shoulder through the barred window. “Trust me, he’s not going to answer your calls either. He’s at a clinic on the other side of the country - and he’s usually three drinks deep by this time.”

Skeptically, Link muttered, _“Ah,”_ and reached into his pocket to pull out his slim wallet. “By all means then,” he said drily, slipping out a business card and holding it for Allen, “text me.”

Allen looked like he was laughing at Link again when he put a hand to Lulu’s nose and pushed away from the wall, reached out and accepted the card. He glanced at it briefly, turned it over to look at the back before tucking it into his pocket. _“Howard,”_ he said, grin stretching across his face.

Link couldn’t help the flash of displeasure, and when he muttered, “I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Allen only shrugged and didn’t comment further. “I’ll contact the stable and ask what might be needed by way of tack. I’ll forward the list to you and, if we decide to stable him here, will cover the cost and give you a bonus to take care of the purchases.”

Allen looked as though he might have liked to turn down the offer for more extracurricular responsibilities, but Link could almost see his ears perk at the mention of a bonus. Link made a mental note of that, and factored it into the mention of shared accounts and stolen money, and decided he’d do his best to work their transactions in cash.

“I’ll try get to it tonight,” Allen asserted, “or by midday tomorrow at the latest. It’ll be better to move him sooner rather than later, so if you make a decision before the week is up,” the glance he cast Link was almost teasing - _almost,_ “feel free to let me know so we can arrange to transport him.”

Link nodded, short and firm, and backed away half a step to let Allen past with a feeling as though their ‘meeting’ had come to an end.

“Do you mind if I ask who he’s been trained with until now?” Allen hummed and stopped at the lip of the walkthrough, glanced around what he could see of the property as though he was looking for something.

Link pulled the folder out once more and flipped through a few pages, settled on one and scanned through until he read, “He’s currently stabled with Epstain Equine, and has been trained until now by Renny Epstain.”

Link didn’t miss the way Allen's shoulders tensed, or the painfully nonchalant way he repeated, _“Renny_ Epstain?”

Fearing some kind of industry-specific competitiveness, Link closed his file carefully and nodded. “Yes,” he admitted slowly, “under the tutelage of Sahlins - who I assume is her father?” he posed as a question.

Allen hummed distractedly and glanced around again, muttered, “Where is Lavi?”

Link, picking up on _something_ at least, frowned and pressed, “Is the previous trainer important?”

Allen snorted a laugh and responded, “Of _course_ it’s important. Everyone has their own styles and methods. _Lavi!”_ he barked out, sharp and commanding.

There was a flicker of movement out in the paddocks and Link glanced over as the cattle dog shot through the grass and under fences like a bullet from a gun, its mouth open in a dopey grin. Link kept his eyes on the animal, watched its pace falter when it caught sight of him, then pick up once more so it could charge through the space between Link and Allen. When it arrived it circled around Allen and leaned up against his knees to squint accusingly at Link and Link, ever preferring more information to less, reasoned, “You don’t seem to be a fan.”

Allen gave a rueful laugh and asked, “Of Renny?” Link didn't bother to reiterate, and Allen admitted, “No, not particularly,” without further prompting. “She’s very… single minded. With her training.”

Link’s eyes narrowed and he demanded, “How so?”

Allen seemed to push his words around his mouth for a moment, taste testing them before offering them to Link as, “I’ve seen a few horses sent to her after being broken in, for basic training. You know - kick to go, pull to stop. The end result is…” he shook his head and shrugged, leaned down to scratch at Lavi’s ruff, “quick. It’s quick, and it’s a completely different horse than the one you sent off. They’re not broken _in_ there, they’re just. Broken.”

Link stayed quiet for a long moment before he said, “If you’d like to go inspect Neah yourself before accepting him into your stables, I can arrange that.”

“No need,” Allen responded quickly, glancing up to give Link a warm grin while he crouched to rough Lavi’s face between his hands. “I’ll take him anyway. Always wanted to train one of Tyki’s boys.” He jerked away with a laugh when Lavi lunged to lick at his face, and Link nodded his appreciation.

“In that case,” he said, stepping out of the stables, “I’ll leave you to your work. Contact me if you require any further details.”

“Of course,” Allen said, and his sarcasm wasn’t even tangible this time.

Link stepped out of the walkthrough, past the crossties and onto the grassy knoll. The Earl’s paddock sat before him, and a small dam was past that. Low rolls of hills and paddock meandered down to a tree-lined creek, the grass thick and green even where it had been grazed down. It was… calming. Peaceful, for all the discomfort that came from being surrounded by animals of varying sizes. Link couldn’t say he was looking forward to coming back, but perhaps he wouldn’t hate it if he needed to. Once Neah was moved, he ruminated as he strode back to his car, there would be no reason for him to return. Allen would take care of the horse and anything to do with it, and Link would pay him out of Levellier’s account. An agreeable arrangement.

_[Tuesday 5:17am]_  
_From: Allen Marian_  
_Stabling/grazing - $200/pw_  
_Training - $100/pw_  
_Feed - $50/pw_  
ill work him five days a week, ride him for three of those when i can and depending on how well he plays along i might be able to get him up to scratch for the novice comp happening a couple of cities south of here in a few months

 _[Tuesday 7:43am]_  
_To: Allen Marian_  
_Thank you, I’ll discuss this with Levellier and let you know his decision._  
_Regards,_  
H. Link


	2. Chapter 2

When Link arrived at Epstain Equine during his lunch break on Thursday, it was with the buoying intention of never having to waste his personal time on Levellier’s ridiculous equestrian endeavour ever again. The horse would be loaded onto the float, Link would drive to accompany as it was taken to Ararat, and once unloaded it would be Allen’s problem for the entire foreseeable future.

There was some kind of relief when they led Neah out. Whatever fears Link hadn’t realised he’d been harbouring of a _broken horse_ , Neah didn’t seem to fit the description. He was tall, taller than Link had quite remembered, and was tossing his head and tugging at the rope with enough energy that Link was more concerned for the stable hand leading him.

A warranted concern, evidently, when Neah caught sight of the lowered ramp of the truck, drew conclusions Link would never have expected a horse to make, and did his best to dislocate his handler’s arm. Wrenching his head and lifting his front legs from the ground while he twisted and tried to redirect himself, the stable hand scattered away from the threat of flailing hooves and laid-back ears, leaving Renny herself to dash forwards and grab Neah’s halter to force his head down. Without ceremony, she directed the horse away from the float and back towards the stables, tugging his head back down to his knees whenever he tried to huff and snort and pull away.

Over his back, she commanded to the stable hand, “Get me a blindfold - a strip of cloth - hessian, get me some hessian.”

Link watched apprehensively while the stable hand darted off, and Renny held Neah down until his forceful breaths had calmed some, and Link thought he might understand the sardonic way Allen had laughed at having him be described as _spirited._ That was certainly one word for it, and Link didn't much envy Allen the opportunity to spend his days around a horse like this.

Before long, the stable hand returned with a wide strip of burlap, which he handed to Renny. Link watching on from a distance, she got the hand to hold Neah’s halter firmly in place in her stead and she quickly reached up to place the coarse cloth over his eyes and tie it beneath his chin. The horse wrenched his head and tried to back away, but the hand held him still long enough for Renny to finish and take hold of the lead rope, let Neah wrench it slowly through her hands while he tossed and jerked to try dislodge the blindfold.

“He can still see through it,” she said, voice calm and expression unaffected by the horse’s slowly-tempering distress, “but not very well. Should be able to lead him in like that - slowly,” she commanded and held the lead out to the stable hand. “Reel him in, walk him around a bit. Back and forth, take him closer to the ramp. If he kicks a fit we’ll tie a rope around his ass. We don’t have all day.”

The hand nodded and carefully shortened the lead, approaching the nervous horse and guiding him to take several careful, slow steps forward. Ears flickering, head high and neck tense, Neah tentatively followed the lead and let out a low, nervous nicker. The hand urged him a few more steps and Link watched carefully without a word while Neah began to follow the slow pace more readily, though the tension in his posture and the way his ears flicked back and forth lent Link to the impression that he was anything but happy with how things were going.

Renny approached Link, stood by him and watched on carefully as the stable hand led Neah in a wide circle to disorient him from the trailer. Voice low so as not to alarm the animal, she folded her arms across her chest and observed, “It probably seems cruel, from here.”

Link shrugged noncommittally. He wasn’t one to judge what was cruel in terms of creatures that could break bones with a bite, or trample someone if spooked. They had to be handled, surely, in a way that reminded them that regardless of their size, the human leading them was bigger. Whether his judgement was accurate or not, he couldn’t deny that it did seem… unsavoury. Necessary, but crude. But rather than say any if that, Link asked, “Is he claustrophobic?” because that seemed like the kind of information Allen might need.

Renny snorted an unamused laugh and retorted, “He’s a stubborn, entitled asshole, is what he is. Never competed him, and not being able to get him in the float was only half the problem.”

“Was he easy to train?” he asked next, eyes locked on the way Neah shook his head vigorously to try loosen the knot under his chin to no avail, led in pacing arcs back towards the ramp.

Renny laughed again and Link was beginning to wonder what it was about him these people found so funny. “He’s got too much of his dad in him,” she said like it was a bad thing and Link tried not to frown his confusion. “Not one of Tyki Mikk’s foals have amounted to anything, and there’s a reason for it.”

“From what I’ve seen,” and Link had seen a lot - had stayed up several hours looking for recordings of Tyki’s award-winning performances, “I don’t understand how the sire could be the problem. He’s performed exceptionally in all competitions he’s been entered in, and his trainer handles him incredibly well for such a... spirited. Animal.”

Renny laughed outright at this, and Link bristled, watched the way Neah’s ears flicked to catch the sound, then folded back along his skull, lowering his head a little. “Cross Marian doesn’t handle _anything_ well if he can’t beat it into submission. I don’t know how he gets it to look so alive in the arena, but bets are that poor beast is worn as anything when it isn’t under the limelight.”

Link’s expression flickered in confusion and he opened his mouth, about to correct Renny before realising he had no reason to. This wasn't his business. Tyki wasn’t his business, and Allen wasn’t, and within the hour Neah wouldn’t be either. So he wiped his face and voice of disagreement, allowed, “I suppose,” and pinned his attention to where the stable hand was slowly trying to tempt Neah up the ramp.

The horse tested the ramp, lowered his head to snuff at the rubber-lined wood before taking a careful step onto the slope. The hand bated his breath, urged Neah carefully and slowly to tread up the ramp but never once put pressure on the lead, for fear of driving him away. A second leg, then a third, and finally all four feet were on the platform. A preemptive victory, but one which was assured when Neah let himself be led into the stall of the float. Renny left Link’s side, and he couldn’t help the quiet breath of relief he sighed at her departure. Perhaps it was a bias Allen had instilled in him with his defaming words, but something about her put Link on edge and when she was gone he found himself relaxing from a tension he hadn’t noticed. She closed the gate behind Neah’s rump once he was packed into the float, and after a moment the stable hand poked his head out from the small door in the front of the trailer to ask, “Do you want me to take off the blindfold?”

“Depends,” Renny called sarcastically while she stepped down from the ramp and gestured for the hand to help her lift it closed, “do you want a skitz maniac to kick your teeth out and break your fingers?”

The hand laughed, veiling his nerves, and Link wondered briefly if the ‘skitz maniac’ was meant to be her or Neah. When the ramp banged closed, Link heard a thudding stomp that shook the trailer, and a distressed whinney from inside. ‘Skitz maniac’ didn’t quite seem an apt description for a nervous horse that had to be blindfolded and coerced to be led into a dark trailer, but Link digressed. He wasn’t the professional here.

After sliding the bolts home, Renny rapped her knuckles on the iron side of the float, causing Neah to stamp again at the sound. “Lead the way, Mister Link,” she gestured for him to get in his car while the stable hand climbed into the driver’s side of the truck. “Take it slow,” she instructed with a grin. “We’ve got precious cargo.”

‘We’, like she was coming with then. The moment Neah was off her property he was no longer her problem and Link had the feeling she was counting down the seconds.

 

 _[Thursday 12:36pm]_ _  
_ _To: Allen Marian_   
Neah had trouble loading onto the float, but it was resolved quickly. Sorry for the delay - we’re on our way now. We should arrive by 1pm.

 _[Thursday 12:41pm]_ _  
_ _From: Allen Marian_   
:”DD

 

It was almost quarter past when they pulled up the winding driveway to Ararat, Link having taken every turn carefully and checking incessantly that the truck wasn’t more than two seconds behind him.

When Lavi’s barking alerted Allen to their arrival, Link watched him bound out of the stable with exuberant energy, the biggest sunshine grin on his face that Link had ever seen. It was blinding, and when he pulled his car into the worn out parking spot beside the gate he was relieved to find its radiance directed at the truck instead. Without hesitating, Allen unlatched the large gate and swung it open, rushed to the driver’s window and began gesturing around the stable, no doubt giving directions to which paddock he wanted Neah in and the best way to back the float up to it. Once he was sure the driver understood, Allen stepped away from the truck and watched it rumble past, only turning to jog over to Link’s car once it was through the gate.

His smile had dialed down some, for which Link was grateful, and he stepped out of his car to meet him. “How did it go?” he demanded before Link could get a word of greeting in and Link overlooked the oversight and shrugged.

“It went,” he answered simply. “They had to blindfold him to get him in.”

This gave Allen pause, made a frown pass across his brow like a cloud over the sun. “Well,” he muttered, the cheerful tone dropping for a moment, “we’ll have to do something about that.” ‘We’, as if Link was to be involved in this endeavour in any capacity. What was it with trainers and their uninvited use of inclusive pronouns? Before Link could correct this, however, Allen had rocked up onto his toes and his blinding smile was back. He directed it down at the paddocks, where the truck was rounding to point the trailer at the gate to the Earl’s paddock. It was empty right now, the Earl visible in his stable from their vantage point, and Allen entreated, “Want to go see him?” with the air of a child at a theme park.

Link was quite happy where he was, in honesty, but Allen had already spun around and was jogging to the gate. “I’ve already seen him,” Link sighed by way of paltry reluctance but followed him regardless, at a much more mediated pace.

Lavi was still barking, prancing defensively around the trailer while it backed up, and Link could see Neah’s dark ears flick nervously at the sound. A low whinny rang out from the float and Allen’s sharp voice cut through the barking. _“Lavi._ Inside,” he commanded, pointing to the stable. Lavi immediately quietened and loped towards them, but Allen reiterated, “Go inside,” before he could press himself against Allen’s legs and beg for scratches. Ears folding back a little in disappointment, Lavi nonetheless followed the firm instruction and altered his course to the barn.

Link stopped an acceptable distance away and Allen rushed forwards to unlatch the gate, his firmness with the dog melting the moment he caught sight of Neah tossing his head in the trailer. With the gate held open, Allen gestured for the truck to back up and held up his hand as signal to stop once it was in place. Link’s silent begging betraying him, Allen called for him to come over, that big grin still on his face.

“I need help with the ramp,” he insisted, and Link forced himself to swallow his reluctance and approach.

“What about the driver?” Link asked helplessly, eyes flicking nervously to the float when Neah stamped aggressively at the floor.

“He might have to act fast,” Allen said, and the words did anything but reassure Link that this was going to go well. Sensing his hesitation, Allen’s smile gentled and he reasoned, “Best case, he’s calm enough to let me walk him out. Worst case he bolts into the paddock and this guy will drive a few meters so we can close the gate on him.”

Link pulled in a deep, quiet breath while he nodded, steeling himself, and Allen nodded back.

“Take the pin,” Allen instructed from the other side of the trailer, pulling an L-shaped peg from its slot and supporting his corner of the ramp with a hand pressed against it. Link followed his example, left the chained pin to hang freely when Allen allowed, “Alright, carefully,” and began to lower the door down. Walking it into the paddock and crouching to let it settle gently on the grass, Link stepped back as soon as he was done. “Might want to hop out of there,” Allen commented wryly and pulled open the gate for Link to slip past before leaning it closed against the side of the trailer.

With practiced movements Allen opened the door in the front of the float and poked his head in. Link heard him murmur, “Hello, gorgeous boy,” in a voice low and soothing like warm honey, heard Neah give a low, nervous nicker in response before Allen disappeared inside the trailer. Link, unable to help his curiosity, edged closer so he could hear Allen speak in quiet, comforting tones to the anxious horse. “What have they done to you, angel?” Allen murmured between Neah’s loud, forceful breaths. “Can’t see a thing, can you? Stay still sweetie, stay still my love. I’ll get it off, it’s okay - there you go, how’s that?”

Link didn’t get it - he didn’t get Allen at all. He wasn’t even _thinking_ , was he? It was like when a normal person spoke to a dog or something and they’d put on that dumb high-pitched voice. Allen probably wasn’t even giving a thought to the words of meaningless reassurance spilling out of his mouth - it was the _tone_ Neah was listening to, the tone of melted honey and calming warmth. Honestly, Link wouldn’t even be surprised to think Allen might have forgotten how certain words worked. He called Tyki a ‘pissy fucker’ in the same way someone might talk about an old friend, murmured words like ‘angel’ and ‘sweetie’ to a horse which he was anticipating would bolt the moment it was let free.

“Heya Neah,” he hummed in a lighthearted rhyme, “if you bite me now you’ll get away with it, but that’s in no way an invitation.” Link huffed a breath, almost amused, and Allen soothed in the same sweet tone, “I’m going to go open your gate now, then I’ll come and untie you. If you kick me I’ll fucking kill you, okay?”

There was a breathy snort from Neah and Allen slipped out of the trailer, eyes shining with his ecstatic grin. “You’re right,” he breathed in an undertone of excitement as he passed Link, “he looks _just_ like Tyki did at this age!”

Link blinked as he passed, unsure exactly of what to say, but Allen was gone before he needed to say anything. He hadn’t even really… Like, he’d been generalising. He could hardly tell one horse from another if they were the same colour, but uh. Okay, so apparently Neah _did_ look a lot like Tyki. Allen seemed over the moon about it at least, but Link could almost assume that Allen based his entire perception of equine aesthetics off the large bay horse in his stables. A significant bias but, Link felt he was unqualified to admit, one that wasn’t entirely without basis. Compared to the Earl, Tyki had a certain elegance, and compared to Lulu he had a ferocious charm. Link couldn’t deny that he’d seen something of that in Neah, but it was hard to tell when the majority of their meeting had been of Renny strong arming him into submission and sentencing him to a one-sided game of trust - which had ultimately ended on a bad note for Neah, Link could empathise.

The padded gate locking Neah into his stall creaked open and Allen dropped from the ramp before slipping through the fence once more and darting past Neah to call a low warning to the driver, “You ready?” Renny’s stable hand gestured affirmation out the window and Allen paused to glance at Link before stepping in. “I might need you to close the gate for me. If he bolts he’ll go to the other end of the paddock and probably won’t come back, and if he does I’ll lift the ramp and you close the opening as the truck moves. Okay?”

Link nodded, swallowed past his dry throat and agreed, “Of course,” while trying to convince himself his nerves were unnecessary.

Allen smiled at him, soothing and calm, and Link thought he might understand why he had such a way with horses. “It’ll be fine,” he stated, more like a fact than a reassuring placation. Link found he didn’t feel as though he was being talked down to, and wondered if that was a tactic on Allen’s behalf or if Link had somehow managed to win some favour without noticing. As much as he hated it, he felt himself warming to Allen almost instinctively as a result, and masked his discomfort at the thought by moving to the gate and resting his hands along the top of the sun warmed metal.

From inside the float he heard Allen’s soothing voice talking gently to Neah, “I’m going to untie you now, love. You can bolt if you want, but please be mindful of the ramp. If you fall and sprain your ankle I’ll shoot myself in the foot, and I don’t think Mister Link will thank you for the medical bill.”

Link was of half a mind that if the horse proved to be that much trouble straight up, Levellier would simply have it put down. Not the most ideal course of action, but Levellier was in this for profit and Link didn’t even know if a horse with a sprained ankle  _could_ compete in dressage.

“Shall I unclip your lead? I think I should,” Allen hummed, contemplative. “Don’t want you tripping over it if you take off. And… there you go, my love.”

There was a short moment of silence before a heavy footfall shuddered through the trailer, quickly followed by another and another until there was a cascade of movement as Neah realised he was no longer locked into the tiny space. He backed down the ramp, hurried and anything but graceful, and Link’s heart jumped to his throat when he curved sharply off the ramp and a back leg slipped off the platform. He seemed fine though and his other long legs fumbled to follow that first one onto the grass, his rear quickly backing up to where Link was standing by the gate. Neah was moving quickly - too quickly, and a hand was at Link’s elbow wrenching him away when Neah’s rump collided forcefully with the unlatched gate. Link stumbled, wide-eyed and useless while Allen lunged forward, still grasping Link’s elbow, and slapped his hand against Neah’s rump.

The sharp sound spooked the horse and he took off into the paddock, bucking a few times when he was further away. Allen, not hesitating, slipped through the opening Neah had pushed between the trailer and the gate and got his hands under the lip of the ramp. With a short grunt he heaved it up, stretched to slot one pin home and rapped his knuckles twice against the metal even as he stretched for the second. The truck rumbled and revved, pulling away from the gate with Allen following after it, and as soon as the float was clear Link numbly shoved the gate closed.

“We’re good!” Allen called to the driver, who stopped, and he managed to get the second pin through its hole. With a breathless sigh he turned and leaned against the trailer, grinning at Link, and repeated just for them, “We’re good.”

Link sucked in a deep breath and nodded, hands white knuckling on the gate, and looked back at Neah while Allen shoved off and went to latch the chain around it. The horse had made it to the far corner and kicked out a bucking lunge just like the ones Link had seen from Tyki, before wheeling and charging along the fence line to the opposite end of the paddock, kicking out erratically and throwing his head around with incensed whinnys.

“Well,” Allen announced, and when Link glanced over he could see him practically buzzing from adrenaline, “that was fun.”

“Fun,” Link repeated drily but couldn’t deny the way his heart was thrumming excitedly in his chest. He looked back at Neah, watched him pull up short at the fence and whirl around for another go. Hesitantly watching him, Link asked, “Is he… okay? Should we sedate him?”

Allen leaned his arms atop the gate and muffled his laugh into them, shaking his auburn head. “No,” he answered between amused chuckles, “we shouldn’t sedate him.” After a moment he propped his chin up on his arms and watched Neah run frantically around the Earl’s paddock with something like delight in his expression. At length he said, “He’ll wear himself out,” with such inherent fondness that Link wasn’t certain if Allen was looking at Tyki, or if he was just… _like_ that.

“If you say so,” he allowed, because out of them one was a professional in these matters and it certainly wasn’t Link. After another moment’s indulgence spent watching Neah race pointlessly back down the length of the paddock Link turned and found Renny’s stable hand dutifully unloading the tack they’d inherited with Neah. Easily, because it was what he was comfortable with, Link approached the boy and pulled out his wallet, rifled through and found him a fifty. “Thank you for your help,” he said, handing it to the stable hand.

He shot a surprised glance between Link and the money before accepting it and tucking it into a pocket. “No problem,” he waived and gestured to the pile of tack. “Need a hand with that too?” and Link, unsure if the offer came from the goodness of the hand’s heart or the depth of Link’s pockets, shook his head politely.

“Thank you,” he said again, “I think that’s everything.”

The hand gave a shrug and a nod and climbed back into the driver’s seat. Link quickly glanced to ensure none of the tack was in the way of the wheels before waving a farewell as indication that he was free to leave. Carefully, the truck extracted itself from the short hill, maneuvered around the barn and rolled through the gate and down the driveway, the empty trailer rattling light and unburdened behind.

Allen brushed past Link and stooped to pick up the black leather saddle and bridle from the grass, and managed to hook a few other things into his overloaded hands too. Saddle over one arm, he strode up the hill and placed everything where it belonged as he went. Bridle on a hook near the cross ties, a detour to lay the girth over a fence railing, he tossed the boots onto the ground next to Lulu’s empty stable and disappeared into the stable.

Link glanced down at the tarp-sized rug at his feet, the absence of Allen’s bustle allaying the unintentional and entirely unwarranted belief that Link had any idea what he was meant to be doing here. Here, on this property. Owning a horse on Levellier's behalf, naturally, but Allen’s inclusive nature had somehow managed to delude him into believing he had _purpose_ here, to at least some negligible extent. He didn’t even know where to take the rug for the effort to be helpful. Had Allen left it here by design, or simply because his arms were full? Would it even be _helpful_ for Link to try helping?

“Could you bring that rug up for me?”

It was kind of pathetic, wasn’t it? The way Link jumped at that opportunity to do something like it’d been sent from heaven above. He dipped to bundle the rough cloth into his arms and when he got to the stable he dropped his eyes away from Allen’s brilliant grin, immediately regretting his unwarranted desire to see it again. “Where do you want it?” he asked, but Allen was already taking it from him and folding it into a corner of the stall in front of Tyki’s empty stable.

“Ideally,” he laughed, “I’d want it on him. But chances are he’s going cold tonight. Doesn’t seem like the kind to cool off for a while.” Link glanced over his shoulder and skeptically watched Neah stop his petering charges, shake his head and then toss it several times so the halter jangled. “And,” Allen sighed, anything but excited, “I’ll have to get that off him at some point. Before he rubs his face raw with it.”

“Why did you leave it on?” Link found himself asking without a thought, and wondered briefly if that came across as accusatory.

“He wouldn’t let me take it off,” Allen admitted wearily and rubbed at his eyes, cast a short, worried glance to Neah which he quickly veiled by stretching for the kettle. “Would you like a coffee?” he offered and Link glanced at his wristwatch. One thirty-two. Well, Levellier had offered him an extended break to take care of the horse. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t have taken it if he didn’t need it, but the entire ordeal had been incredibly exhausting once all was said and done.

So he allowed, “Sure,” and didn’t stop to think about dusty camp mugs or instant coffee.

Allen hummed quietly, happily, and turned the old radio up to a quiet hum in the background. In a little flurry of activity, he pulled up two milk crates _,_ upturned them in the entrance of the walkthrough and glanced around in confusion. “Where’s Lavi?” he asked, a question that Link was quickly realising Allen had to ask quite often. It was followed shortly by, “Oh come on… _Lavi!_ You idiot, do you want to die?” For once Link had the impression that Allen wasn’t threatening death so much as heralding it, when he saw the cattle dog nip at Neah’s ankles and set the agitated horse off on another rampage of galloping and wild kicks. _“Lavi!”_ Allen commanded once more and the one-eyed dog’s ears folded back in contrition while he jogged towards them out of the paddock, the wide grin he wore belying the apology he sniffed at Allen’s knees. “Like eating their food isn’t enough,” Allen scowled down at him, but his reprimanding voice had quickly taken on a slightly teasing tone, “you have to go ruin their day in every other conceivable way too?” By the end of it he’d broken into a grin and caved to Lavi’s smile, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. “You’re such a dumb rabbit,” he cooed, which. Well, obviously not. There wasn’t much rabbit-like about him, except maybe his ears, but Link suspected it was just Allen talking nonsense again.

Stuck on the one detail, Link asked, “He eats horse food?”

Allen snorted a laugh and poked Lavi’s nose, brushed the blue-grey hair from his pants and stood while Lavi flopped onto his stomach and sneezed. “He eats _any_ food,” Allen corrected and went to make their coffee as the kettle boiled off. Two dusty camp mugs, and a sugar cube in each. After spooning in the coffee, Allen paused and leaned over to glance out of the stable at Neah, his face brimming over with a large grin trying its best to stay small. He huffed a quiet, happy laugh and went back to the coffee, poured in hot water and went to the rusty fridge for milk.

Link, somewhat dry but also genuinely trying for conversation, commented, “You’re awfully excited about all this.”

“Mhmm!” Allen hummed unabashed agreement, tapping his fingers quietly to whatever upbeat song was playing from the radio while he finished up their coffee and handed one to Link, positively brimming with energy. “Cross doesn’t want Wisely trained to a higher level because he’s trying to sell him, and Bond hates me. I haven't had anyone to work properly in _ages.”_

“What about,” Link gestured to the pasture as a whole while Allen led them to the crates and sat down, “the others?”

Allen made an ambivalent sound and cocked his head. “Lulu _is_ lovely,” he admitted with a strange reluctance, “but she’s had a bad run with injuries lately. There’s an abscess on her leg that just… hasn’t really healed. The inflammation and heat have gone down a lot, so hopefully by the end of the month she’ll be fine, but,” he shrugged and took another sip of coffee, eyes on Neah.

Link nodded his understanding - not that he understood what, exactly, and abscess was or how a horse got one, but the reasoning behind Allen’s reluctance seemed sound. “There was another, wasn’t there?”

Allen’s grimace was a sight to behold, all reluctance and distressed exasperation when he admitted, “Road. She’s… Sheril’s favourite,” he settled on, distaste making his nose wrinkle a little.

“He doesn’t want you riding her?” Link guessed and Allen snorted a mirthless laugh.

“If he had his way, she’d be in a museum,” he commented and shook his head. “She’s young and psycho and spoiled on top of that.”

Link frowned and asked, “How so?” because… how did one _spoil_ a horse, exactly? They already had all they wanted, right? an unending supply of food and maybe some exercise? Green grass and a place to run around? Neah was certainly taking advantage of the Earl's field, trotting up and down with sharp ears perked like he was looking for something.

Allen’s mouth twisted in distaste and he said firmly, “If he wanted a child that bad he should’ve had one.” He glanced aside and caught Link’s confusion, rolled his eyes and mocked in a simpering voice, _“Road doesn’t respond well to being hit._ Like, yeah, cause she’s never been touched in her life?”

 _“Ah,”_ Link realised, remembering the way Allen’s light slap had pulled Tyki into line without a problem.

Allen tilted his head back so he could stare at the tin roof above them and continued mockingly, _“She goes off and gets all sad and won’t let me near her,_ but if he gave it ten seconds and she’d be right back, begging for attention. It doesn’t _hurt_ them,” he stressed, and Link felt this was the tip of an iceberg-sized disagreement he’d been having with Sheril for a long time. Link had to admit a gentle slap couldn’t hurt a _person,_ let alone a horse. The sound, he gathered, was more- “It’s just the sound of it that shocks them,” Allen scowled at the roof and Link kept the surprise off his face. He knew he wasn’t dumb, but getting something right about _horses_ was a little shocking. Before Allen could let himself fall down that tangent, however, he shook his head and cleared his throat, shot Link a rueful grin and returned to his point, “So, yeah. I’m glad Neah’s here.”

Link made a mild sound of understanding and braved the coffee, had to force himself to swallow it when the unrefined taste assaulted his palate.

Ignorant of Link’s close encounter with choking to death, Allen murmured quietly, almost to himself, “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

Link looked down the hill, watched Neah’s anxious trot. Three of his hooves flashed dark in the grass, one light and topped with a white sock. Long dark legs arching tense and elegant in a way even Link could tell had been trained into him, his bay coat brown-gold behind his legs and at the tip of his black velvet nose. The asymmetrical white streak trailing down from his brow made the sharp angles of his face more perfect for its imperfection and every line of him spelled well-muscled and strong. Link wasn’t _blind._ He’d seen the same things in Tyki, with added weight and power behind his movements. Not that Link doubted Neah’s strength. Not in the least. It was almost _deadly,_ the way he moved. The way he paced up and down the paddock like he was looking for something to fight. “I suppose,” Link agreed, but frowned short dissatisfaction when the words tasted stale on his tongue - like something false, and unfelt. Link wasn’t a purveyor of beauty in any esteem, equine or otherwise, but an existence of restrained violence of the likes he saw in Neah deserved far more than stale agreement for the sake of agreement. “He looks dangerous,” he said instead, and winced for erring on the side of being too truthful as opposed to too contained with his thoughts.

But Allen didn’t refute it in any way, and Link felt himself relax a little thanks to the way he laughed and nodded in amused agreement. “He looks like he could give Tyki a run for his money,” he commented, and Link wondered if he should be more cautious of _Allen_ for the savage determination he saw in his eyes.

Link was quite suddenly faced with the realisation that Allen worked here not because his father was Cross Marian, but because he _liked_ it - and not just for the country ambiance and grinning dog.

Allen liked Neah and he loved Tyki and what he seemed to enjoy so much about this whole thing was the challenge, was proving that he _could._ He wouldn’t beat a horse, he wouldn’t break one, but through and through he’d work until he bested it, until he came out on top not with a cowed animal beneath him, but with a harnessed beast whom he _owned._ Everything about horses that made Link nervous were the exact things Allen loved, and he played off his utter insanity so well that it had taken Link a moment too long to realise.

Link sat quietly with nothing much to say, part of him wondering if Allen was the dangerous kind of crazy or just a different breed of adrenaline seeker. Allen seemed more than content to let the silence pool between them, sitting with his elbows planted on his knees while he watched Neah’s movements with a keen, evaluating interest. Seeing things Link had no idea how to look for.

After several long minutes, Allen’s coffee nearly finished and Link’s all but untouched, Allen made a sound of quiet decisiveness and stated, “I’m going to give him a couple of days to calm down. He won’t let me stable him tonight - I _will_ rug him and there’s no rain forecast, so you don’t have to worry about all that. Tomorrow he’ll probably want a hay net and a dirt stall enough that he’ll let me bring him in - is the one beside Lulu’s fine?” Allen asked suddenly, distant eyes cutting sharply to Link with the question.

“It, uh,” Link stumbled, completely lost on whether or not it would be suitable.

“It’s the same as hers,” Allen hummed contemplatively, “a bit smaller than Tyki and the Earl’s. There are some larger ones at the lower stables, but. Hmm.”

“But?” Link prompted, determined to hear the entire thought process.

“But,” Allen grimaced slightly, “Road’s down there and I’d rather she weren’t stirring him up. Not to mention,” he added, tilting his head a little as he thought, “he won’t want to be cooped up in a smaller stable, which works as a benefit to getting him out again. He’s got an incredible amount of energy, which…” He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes while he stared down at Neah. “It’ll work _for_ us, but only if he wants it to.”

Curious, Link pressed, “How do you make him _want_ to?” and forgot for a moment that the coffee in his hands wasn’t a drinkable standard.

Allen hummed again, but his thoughts seemed to be gaining some momentum when he explained, “Positive reinforcement-based training, mostly. Work him til he gets it right, then let him stop. repetition for the sake of repetition won’t achieve anything - I can see where Renny’s tried to hammer some things into his head and how he’s refused to let them stick.”

“What things?” Link insisted, unable to help his curiosity at just how _deep_ Allen could go with all this. And he hadn’t even… All he’d done was _look,_ was watch from a distance, and he was already drawing conclusions about how to effectively train a horse he’d never seen before today. It was… impressive. And Link was intrigued. And Allen, from the glance he cast Link, was amused enough to indulge him.

He gave a short hum of consideration and looked back out to the paddock, watched Neah with calculating eyes for a moment before he pointed out, “See the way he tosses his head like that?” and mirrored the way Neah had just jerked his head up sharply without clear reason. His trotting steps faltered for a moment so he could lean down and rub his nose against an outstretched leg, the halter causing him some annoyance, and Allen explained, “She’s been longing him with the side reins pulled too tight. Which is fair if he’s refusing to tuck his nose in, but it’s obviously been causing him a lot of discomfort, or he wouldn’t have that habit of trying to tug at them.”

Link frowned and glanced down at the horse. That was… extremely specific. Was it fine for Allen to draw those conclusions? He hadn’t spoken to Renny, that Link knew of, and didn’t horses just… toss their heads? Wasn’t that just a generally horsey behaviour?

“If he’d been trained properly,” Allen mused, almost to himself, “he wouldn’t have such abrasive movements, even off the longe. A horse shouldn’t be _explosive_ after they’ve been worked, and he’s been going at it for,” Allen paused to check his watch, “almost twenty minutes now.” As he spoke something seemed to spook Neah into charging off to the other end of the paddock, clearly not worn out at all, and Allen commented drily, “Unless he’s just been squashed and prodded and forced into a box of regimented _motions._ He should be tired out by now, even if he _does_ run hot, but he’s just desperate to shed that feeling of…” Allen’s mouth twisted, trying to find the word before settling on, “manufactured propriety.”

Link nodded slowly, getting where he was coming from at least, and asked, “Will you be re-training him from the ground up, then?”

Allen pushed his lips into a contemplative pout, eyes roaming over Neah as he moved around the paddock. “I’ll go over the basics with him anyway,” he settled on, and his expression still seemed a touch dissatisfied, “and spend a few weeks working on what he needs to work on. But I don’t want to waste much time with that - not when we’ve got three months til that comp. If you want him to compete in it, of course,” Allen amended quickly, shooting a glance at Link like an apology for stepping on toes with assumptions.

Link reassured, as much as anything he said could be called reassurance, “I’ll address Levellier with the proposition, but I don’t see an issue arising. He’ll want Neah competing as soon as is prudent.”

Allen nodded, his contemplative expression returning, and he hummed, “I’ll give him a few days to cool off, I think. Relax into his surroundings.” After a short moment of consideration he decided, “Saturday morning, his holiday will be over. I’ll tack him up and longe him, see what he can do.”

“That sounds perfect,” Link agreed, because he couldn’t see any reason why it wouldn’t be.

Allen seemed to perk up at that, however, like he’d suddenly been reminded that Link was here and that he was a person and maybe even that they’d been having a two-sided conversation this whole time, because when he looked at Link this time he had the distinct impression that every other time Allen had almost been looking _through_ him. His eyes were sharp and bright and _far_ too much, and Link had never before had any kind of trouble speaking in front of powerful business owners in a meeting room filled with aggressors, but the way Allen looked at him all silver with excitement, Link found his words curling up and tangling his tongue, leaving him without a thing to say. “Are you free Saturday morning?” Allen demanded, and the force of his excitement at the prospect left Link blinking confusion in his wake. “If you come, I'll be able to give you an eval right away,” he reasoned, and the teasing corners of his smile told Link it was just an excuse, “so you can report to Levellier directly.”

He couldn’t believe that it was anything underhand, couldn’t believe it was anything more than Allen wanting to show off. Not his ability as a trainer - honestly, it seemed almost negligible to Allen, hardly worth mentioning - but more… _Neah._ He wanted to show off Neah, wanted to make a point that even without a hand in his training this horse was something worth keeping. Something worth watching. And so, despite himself and all his affirmations that this side-project would stay in its pasture far from Link’s office job and busy thoughts, Link found his lips forming the words, “Of course,” with a small smile to accompany, and there wasn’t a hint of stale obligation behind them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO UH I SWEAR I HAVENT ABANDONED THIS FIC???? blows cobwebs off it just,,, looks like that huh LOL

_[Thursday, 2:15pm]_ _  
_ _To: Allen Marian_   
My apologies, I only just realised I didn’t pay you for taking Neah - I’ll be right back.

 _[Thursday, 2:15pm]_ _  
_ _From: Allen Marian_   
no!!! its okay dont worry about it ahaha ur coming back on saturday anyway, so?? :3

Link _was_ , in fact, going back Saturday, and he had also run overtime on his extended lunch break. Having to turn back when he was more than halfway to the city would be an incredible hassle, and probably one he’d have to explain to Levellier in writing. Having stopped at a set of traffic lights to frantically text Allen, he was _more_ than relieved when the trainer responded immediately - he was _grateful._

Nonetheless the money sat hot and heavy in his wallet, folded up in a yellow envelope with Allen’s name printed in Link’s neat hand across the front. For Thursday evening and all of Friday, he was almost painfully aware of it and the regretful, guilty feeling of… not quite failure, but something close. For all that Allen’s response had been lighthearted enough to allay the immediacy of the payment, Link was thoroughly uncomfortable with having Allen’s money in his wallet.

Hence why, come Saturday, Link was up at five-thirty despite Allen’s directive that he’d be starting at eight, and thoroughly prepared himself for the morning. He showered, shaved, braided his hair back neatly and stood in front of his wardrobe for a long, long moment. Not that it mattered, really. But all his work clothes were dress shirts and all his dress shirts were light tones and regardless that he’d done next to nothing either time he’d been to Ararat Link had still found dirt stains on his cuffs and lucien in his shoes.

Looking at his clothes now, however, he realised he really… really didn’t have _anything_ suitable. Not that he _needed_ something suitable - he wasn’t Allen, he wasn’t riding horses and shovelling poo and… napping in the grass? Link was still having a hard time understanding how Allen had managed to have time for that, but likewise couldn’t imagine what would keep him thoroughly busy the whole day through. Link wasn’t very imaginative and still, five days in, knew the bare minimum about horses and their upkeep.

The mess they made, however, and how it magnetised to anything in their vicinity? Yeah, Link had a bit of an idea. So he grabbed his closest-thing-to-dark t shirt, which was a light grey actually, and settled on a pair of neat black jeans he didn’t think he’d ever had the opportunity to wear anyway. His shoes still had a few dried out flakes of leaf in them, but Link didn’t bother shaking them out now. It would be a fruitless effort, certainly.

Phone, keys, wallet, and for the hundredth time that morning Link checked that Allen's money was still there, took a moment at the door to pull it out and count it before he nodded, satisfied, tucked it all back in safely and left the apartment.

On the drive he stopped for coffee and paused for a moment while placing his order, pinned with the intrusive thought that perhaps he ought to get Allen one too. Link could still remember the crass taste of the instant coffee they'd been drinking, but also was of a mind that it was all Allen had, and had offered it to Link regardless. The barista arched her brows at his hesitation and Link asked for two lattes before his mind caught up with the pressure of deciding.

Well. That settled that.

The rest of the drive was… relaxing. Link was an early riser by nature, and honestly found waking with the dawn to be the best start to a day. He usually let himself sleep to seven on Saturdays, but he couldn’t deny the feeling of wellness that came from escaping the city streets before rush hour traffic blocked every main road. And, well, it was vindictively empowering to be driving _away_ from the city while the other side of the highway was backed up to a crawling pace for several kilometers out, people desperate to get in.

The further Link drove the greener everything became, and it was quite a startling contrast to the small potted plant he kept in the corner of his white, florescent-lit desk.

He hadn’t exactly been of a mind to _look_ the past few times he’d driven through, mind occupied with Levellier and work and the bastard of _having_ to drive all the way out. But he found himself admitting now without reluctance that it was quite nice. Calming, he supposed.

Despite his lack of a sleep in, when he arrived at Ararat Link found himself as fresh and relaxed as he would after a weekend of rest. Just… the greenery around him, the expectation of what awaited him. More green fields, grazing horses, a big black cat.

There was a smell too, Link realised when he pulled up at the top of the hill and stepped out of the car. He hadn’t really noticed before, and he was almost surprised to realise it wasn’t actually, like. Horse shit or gross animals. It was warm, kind of leafy and kind of dusty. Like the hay in the stable had smelled, Link supposed. Was it the hay? It was probably the hay.

A loud bark tore Link out of his thoughts and he wondered briefly, the spell broken, how he could have forgotten about the dog. Lavi charged under the fence and bounded to Link’s car, sniffed at the tyres before approaching Link and running his nose all down Link’s leg like he was looking for a scent that warranted teeth.

Link backed away from the dog and they both looked over when Allen called from in front of the stable, a white bucket in his hand, “Morning, Howard!”

“Please,” Link gritted back, making for the fence and ducking between the railings, “don’t call me that.”

Allen cocked his copper head and even from that distance Link could see the mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Link is so impartial though,” he reasoned, continuing his walk down the hill from the stable towards the paddock Neah was still standing in, for all intents unmoved since Link had left Allen to deal with him two days ago. “Reckon I can think of something better.”

“Don’t,” Link repeated, brows scrunching into a small scowl, but followed Allen to the fenceline.

“Howie,” Allen snickered and slipped between the rails of the fence into Neah’s paddock while Link stopped at the gate.

 _“Don’t,”_ he repeated, his glower turning deadly.

Allen only laughed and glanced around the paddock briefly before demanding, probably of the horse watching him scathingly from the middle of the paddock, “Where’s the feed bucket?”

Link glanced around, his eye catching on a yellow tub that had been tilted on its side and kicked under the opposite fence, out of the field. “Is that it there?” he asked and pointed it out.

“For fuck’s sake,” Allen sighed and began the trek over the grass, “you’re an absolute menace. You know that destruction of property _doesn’t_ make more food magically appear, right?”

Link frowned and asked as Allen arrived at the fenceline and began tugging the bucket back into the bounds of the paddock, “He’s destroying property?”

“Nah,” Allen grunted and righted the tub, blind to Neah approaching cautiously from behind him, “he’s no worse than Bond, honestly. I’ll just have to tie his buckets down in the stable, and when I move him to his own paddock.”

Neah stepped closer and lowered his head to Allen’s elbow, curious, and Link considered calling out, but Allen reacted before he could.

He whirled around with an aggressive sound and wrenching his arm out of Neah’s reach, snapped, “I’m trying to _feed_ you, dickhead!” and slapped at Neah’s shoulder. “If you bite me I’ll send you to the glue factory. Get some dog food for Lavi, so he’ll stop eating Tyki’s. Do you wanna fucking _die?”_

Neah pranced away after the slap, trotting with high feet and not really going anywhere. The moment Allen turned his back to pick up the white bucket, Neah was poking his nose into the yellow tub and, finding nothing of interest in there, caught the lip in his mouth and tossed his head to roll it on its side.

Allen was back with a vocal sound of distress, demanding, “Are you _stupid?_ Fucking stop you idiot, your food is _right here,”_ and held up the white bucket like an accusation. Neah gave him an unimpressed glance and kicked at the overturned bucket until Allen slapped at his shoulder again with an insistent, _“Stop!”_

Roughly, the stable hand righted the tub and emptied half of what was in the white bucket into it, chaff and pellets cascading into the bottom. Without a moment’s hesitation Neah shoved his face into the tub and began eating, leaving Allen to shake his head disparagingly and begin walking back to the gate.

“He’s trying to be cute,” he muttered sourly and ducked between the rails, “and it _sucks.”_

“Cute?” Link repeated, glancing confusion back at Neah. The horse had lifted his head as he chewed on his breakfast, watching Allen stalk back up the hill to the stable before lowering his head back to the bucket. “That’s cute?” he frowned and trailed along behind Allen, Lavi dancing around them.

“It _would_ be,” Allen muttered, “if it wasn’t so annoying. I was meant to have him tacked up by the time you arrived,” he admitted and shot a quick glance to his watch, “but you’re early anyway, so I guess I can just blame the unpreparedness on that.” Link arched a brow but didn’t comment, hiding his embarrassment at having been called out.

He was saved the awkwardness of handing over one of the two lattes in his hands when Allen asked, dropping the bucket beside one of the crossties and going into the walkthrough, “Would you like a coffee?”

Link held it out wordlessly and Allen glanced over his shoulder, waiting for an answer, and his eyebrows shot up when he actually looked at Link properly for the first time that morning.

“I hate instant,” was all he said, and Allen cracked a grin before accepting the takeaway cup from him.

“You’re pretty pretentious, aren’t you?” he said with that teasingly amused smile, and didn’t bother asking what the order was before popping the plastic lid off and going to the shelves for the box of sugar cubes. He dropped one in and put the lid back on before taking a sip, and Link was still kind of stuck on that comment of his.

The odd thing was that ‘pretentious’ didn’t actually sound like a _bad_ thing, the way Allen said it. Just… a _thing_ thing. Like Link was pretentious in the same way Neah was cute and Tyki was pissy. Like these were traits Allen locked onto and found indulgently amusing.

“I’m sorry?” was all Link could think to say in response, not quite able to discern if he should be offended in any way.

Allen just laughed at him and pulled up a milk crate, sitting himself down in the entrance of the walkthrough. Link glanced around surreptitiously, unsure of where he could seat himself until he caught sight of the matching crate he’d been invited to pull up last time, shoved out of the way against one of the shelves. He hesitated for a moment before dragging it over to Allen’s side, sitting with a little trepidation.

“Relax, Dink,” Allen reprimanded, shooting Link a teasing look from the corner of his eye. “There’s a difference between _pretentious_ and _asshole.”_

“You know a few of those, then?” Link asked drily, his lips pressed into a worn line.

Allen laughed and sipped at the coffee Link had brought him, leaned a hand behind him on the crate and stretched his legs out in front of himself, crossed at the ankles. “Every equestrian’s an asshole,” he said simply, eyes on Neah eating his breakfast down in the paddock.

“You don’t seem so bad,” Link offered, a touch awkwardly. Half of it was just politeness, really.

Allen only ducked his head and scoffed a laugh, not at all abashed - probably as some kind of warning, but Link made the executive decision to refuse to believe it until he had evidence to suggest otherwise.

“Ah,” Link started, twisting to free up his back pocket and pull out his wallet, “I didn’t, um. This is from last time,” he said, placing his coffee on the dusty concrete and sliding out the bent yellow packet with Allen’s name written across the front.

“Oh,” Allen seemed surprised, as though the fact Link owed him several hundred dollars had slipped his mind, “thanks. So, um.” He hesitated to take the packet, eyes darting between it and Link’s face. “You’re really going to keep him here, then?”

Link arched a brow. “Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”

“Not really,” Allen shrugged, and glanced down to where Neah was kicking at the bright yellow bucket, his head still buried in it. “Just, well. Cross is only known for Tyki, and I’ve got no references.”

Link watched Allen’s face, caught the nervous flicker of his eyes darting to Link when he brought his coffee to his lips.

Quietly, at length, Link said, “Cross Marian got national acclaim for training Tyki Mikk into a Grand Prix champion, and he didn’t lend a finger to teaching him.”

“He’s an incredible rider,” Allen admitted, eyes on his dirty brown steel caps while he scuffed his heel absently against the concrete, “but a horse only knows what it’s been taught, and he’s got no patience for teaching them.”

Link blinked at him, then reached out to place the envelope on Allen’s thigh. Looked out at the paddock while he pushed his wallet back into his pocket and picked up his coffee. “I don’t know much about horses,” he said, “but you seem to.”

Allen didn’t say anything. He sipped the coffee Link had brought him and, after a long moment’s hesitation, picked up the yellow envelope from his knee and folded it along the worn crease, eyes on his hands.

While they finished their coffee, Allen brought Link up to speed on what had happened with Neah over the past few days. Which wasn’t much, apparently. He’d managed to get the halter off him Thursday evening, and by Friday he’d calmed down enough to be acting… well, normal. In Allen’s words, ‘like a punky little queen’.

He was eating and he was drinking, and he didn’t seem extremely interested in making friends, which for some reason seemed to relieve Allen.

“They don’t have friends here,” he’d explained at Link’s confused frown, and pointed out the electric wires lining the wooden paddock fences. “We generally stable whoever gets along together, but they’re not allowed to touch. He,” Allen jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Tyki, nose-deep in his own breakfast, “is lucky he even _gets_ a neighbour. Shithead tried to eat Road’s tail through the divider, wouldn’t shut up when he was next to Wisely, and riled Lulu up to kicking the rail when we tried her. That’s where the abscess came from, y’know? I’m lucky Tricia’s as lovely as she is. If it’d been Sheryl’s horse with an injury like that I’d be dead.”

“But he’s fine with the Earl?”

Allen shrugged. “I’m not sure if they get along, exactly, but he either respects him or pities him enough to not try anything stupid.”

“What about Neah?”

“We’ll just have to see.”

Link wasn’t nervous until Allen went to fetch Neah, and directed him into the crossties.

He was big.

Bigger than Link remembered. Horses were just… very _large._ And as Allen had said, he didn’t seem interested in making friends.

Link kept several meters distance between himself and the irate-looking beast, and was almost glad that Allen seemed to adopt Neah’s same attitude with regards to kindliness. He made no effort to pamper the horse, and made no allowances for him tossing his head or pawing the ground or shuffling around in the crossties like he was bored and annoyed and all sorts of irritated, despite having just had his breakfast.

Allen saddled him, and jabbed his ribs when he tried to hold his breath under the girth. Slapped his rump when he lifted his leg out of Allen’s grasp while he was trying to clean his hooves and strap guards to his shins. He particularly seemed to hate it when Allen attached side reins to his saddle, twisting his head around ar far as the crossties would allow to try nip at Allen’s back. That particularly bold move got him several short, sharp slaps to his shoulder and the side of his neck, an angry sound tearing from Allen’s throat while Neah flinched and lifted his head too high, tugging at the ties and shying against the side of the narrow stall as though he’d never expected Allen to retaliate.

The only moment they seemed particularly amenable was when Allen held out a sugar cube in his palm for Neah to eat before pressing the steel bit against his lips, encouraging him to take it into his mouth. When he finally relented, Allen spent a long moment buckling straps beneath his chin and over his nose and around his mouth before pushing another sugar cube between his black lips, his mouth moving uncomfortably around the bit.

“Alright,” Allen announced, stepping back with the reins in his hand, leading Neah out of the stall one step at a time, hind legs moving awkward and high until he got used to the guards. “C’mon, Punky, let’s see what you can do.”

Neah heaved a bitter snort and shook his head sharply, the bridle clinking.

“Punky?” Link said, mostly certain Allen had forgotten his existence again.

“I think it’ll stick,” Allen nodded firmly, stepping out from the cover of the stable and leading Neah down the hill towards the tree-lined laneway carving its way between the paddocks. “You coming?” he prompted.

Link glanced around the crossties, almost as though he were searching for an excuse _not_ to, despite having sacrificed his sleep-in and making the trip out here just for this exact thing. “Sure,” he said a beat too late, and allowed Neah’s ample rump and flicking tail several cautious meters’ head start, eyes on the flash of his shod hooves as he walked alongside Allen.

“So,” Allen was saying as they passed into the shade of the trees, “I’ll just be getting a feel of him today. Finding his good side, checking his trot and canter, pacing. If I can get him to lengthen and shorten his stride, that’d be incredible. Check that he responds to vocal commands, or if he’s more physical. That sort of thing.”

Neah stopped to dip his head down and stiff at the grass, but Allen didn’t allow for that. Tugged gently at the reins and clicked his tongue to urge Neah back into dragging his feet along with shake of his big head and an irate huff.

“It’ll be good for him too,” Allen continued, elbow digging into Neah’s shoulder to push him away from where he’d started walking oppressively close, trying to nudge Allen against the fence line. “He’ll be figuring me out, testing what I’ll let him get away with, seeing how lazy or wild he can get away with being.”

“Which do you expect him to be?” Link asked, and Allen glanced over his shoulder with a questioning hum. “Lazy or wild?” Link prompted, and Allen shrugged with an easy laugh.

“Hard to tell,” he said, lifting a hand to pat heavily against Neah’s dark shoulder. “He’s certainly got a lot of energy, but I can’t say he’s not arrogant. Might take off, might dig his heels in. Guess we’ll see in a bit,” he reasoned, throwing a cheeky grin back at Link.

“I guess we will,” he agreed ambivalently as they passed the end of the laneway.

“Viewing podium’s down there,” Allen pointed down the gravel road that ringed the paddocks and ran down the longside of the dirt arena to the lower stables. Glancing up the other way, Link saw it lined the property all the way back up past the top stables towards the gate and the main driveway. “You can take a seat,” he instructed, leading Neah along the shortside to a long gate Link could see hanging open. “We’ll be there in a sec.”

Link murmured, “Thank you,” and headed off, not sure why he was still so nervous about leaving Allen’s side. It wasn’t as though any of the horses were simply roaming around waiting to take a chunk out of his arm, and it would have been impossible for him to get lost walking thirty meters along a straight line.

The podium was… comfortable. A wooden dais raised a step above the fine orange sand of the arena, pitted and churned from countless hooves. There was a bench built into the back edge, a weathered cushion laid across the length of it, and two misplaced chairs from a classic outdoor dining set. A rickety-looking table had made its way out there, and there was a dust-covered mess of half-empty water bottles, forgotten gloves and an ancient-looking radio wheezing quiet, crackled music from speakers caked in what looked like years of dirt.

Allen had mirrored his journey down the longside of the arena, dirt already kicked over the toes of his steel cap boots. He paused about ten meters away, Neah scuffing his hooves to an unenthusiastic halt beside him with another weighty huff, as though he knew exactly what was coming when Allen looped the reins over his neck and went to his flank to unclip the side reins from the saddle and attach it to the ring of his bit.

While Allen rounded him to get the other side, Neah tucked his head in, uncomfortable, before stretching his neck out with a gentle tug, testing the slack before Allen carefully pulled his chin back in to clip on the other. He tested it again, tilting his head sideways and stretching his neck out, moving his mouth as though he was getting used to the light tug of the reins.

Allen took half a step back, held him at arm’s length and cocked his head. “How’s that?” he asked of Neah, who responded by straightening up and shaking his head like a dog, his ears flopping and mane flicking atop his crest. “Good,” Allen said, as satisfied as if Neah had heaved a long sigh of relief - which he then proceeded to do, in fact. “Wanna pass me that longe rope?” Allen asked, turning to face Link and leading Neah towards the podium with a gentle hand on the reins near his bit.

Neah stepped carefully after him, already more poised with the way he held his neck against the side reins, chin lifting with each step as though he were still testing what freedom he could get.

“What, sorry?” was all Link could really say, glancing around the podium and moving to that dusty little table.

“Long lead,” Allen specified, “about five meters.”

It was under some gloves and behind a water bottle or two, but Link found the rope easily enough, bundled it up and pressed it into Allen’s outstretched hand.

“Thank you,” Allen hummed happily, dropping most of it into the dirt and threading the clip through the rings of Neah’s bit, down between his front legs and onto a steel ring Link hadn’t noticed at the bottom of his girth. “Aaaaand,” he added, reaching out to pluck a long whip from where it’d been leaning against one of the supporting struts. “Alright,” he announced, tucking the whip under his arm and picking up the rest of the lead, clicking his tongue to urge Neah into following him out into the center of the arena.

The horse followed, placid despite his surly unwillingness, and Allen took a moment to loop the lead neatly into his hand before taking a step away from Neah, letting it a loop spool out between them while he moved towards Neah’s rump, clicking his tongue again sharply.

“C’mon,” he said, relaxed, as Neah took a slow step forwards, and clicked again, moving further back. “C’mon, c’mon. Don’t make me pull out the whip before we start.”

It took another few encouraging clicks before Neah huffed and resigned himself, setting out away from Allen with long, slow steps.

“That’s right,” Allen urged gently, letting the lead unravel from his hand as Neah moved away, curving to set out in a circle around Allen. “That’s right, that’s right. C’mon,” he murmured, clicked his tongue again.

Neah took the signal to collect his steps, shorter and a touch more refined.

“That’s right, that’s better, c’mon,” Allen encouraged, taking a couple of steps to follow Neah’s circle. “Very good,” he murmured, and Link couldn’t really tell if it _was_ very good, but the poise of Neah’s walk and the arch of his neck almost seemed sarcastic. “Good form,” Allen observed, and clicked his tongue again when Neah’s head dipped and his next step turned sloppy and absentminded. “C’mon, c’mon,” he said as Neah rounded the shortside and his circle turned towards Link. “Yeah, he loves these longer reins,” he announced for Link’s benefit. “Still got a stiff neck,” he added when Neah’s pace shortened a touch too much as he rounded to pass Link, his head jerking up-down, chin tucked in a touch too far. “We can fix that, though,” he hummed, relaxed and confident.

“What are you looking for?” Link asked, glancing around behind him for a moment before picking one of the padded green-and-white garden chairs to settle into.

“Steps,” Allen said, eyes unwavering from Neah as he walked his circle. “He’s small, and it’s not about how much distance he covers. If he tries to overreach it starts looking sloppy,” he explained, and clicked his tongue when Neah tried to duck his head and relax a bit too much, snorting like he was already bored with this exercise. “Frame,” Allen added, tugging a touch at the lead in his hand to pull urge Neah’s head back up. “We want his head perpendicular to the ground. Too far out and he’s leaning on the bit. If his poll - his forehead - drops in front of his nose, he’s gonna fall on his face.”

“Right,” Link said, remembering reading something vague and difficult to understand through the technicalities back when he’d spent the night reading up on Ararat’s reputation and watching Tyki Mikk’s performances at nationals.

“Want him to push from his back legs, too,” Allen added as Neah rounded past the rail at the opposite side of the arena. “More action, more push. If he’s dragging himself along with his front legs - which he is,” he added, and gave Neah another few sharp clicks as though to correct that, stepping closer to his nose to give some slack on the lead, “he’ll look lazy. His neck will tense up, and his back too, and he won’t be listening to the aids his rider gives if he’s all locked up like that.”

“How do you fix that?” Link asked with a small frown, leaning his elbows down on his knees and clasping his hands together, watching Neah’s walk and trying to find the tells Allen was listing as he came close to the podium, rounding to pass Link with an annoyed huff.

“Well,” Allen said, mild, following Neah from the center of the arena to keep that slack in the lead, “if he doesn’t fix it himself in a second,” he added, and Link realised Neah was loosening his strides again, taking longer steps to match the slack Allen had given him while Allen freed up his right hand to grasp the long whip and hold it out silently at his side, a quarter-circle behind Neah’s rear.

“C’moooon,” Allen murmured, long and low like a last warning. Neah shortened his steps, straightened his head, but still seemed to be dragging himself along with his front legs for the way Allen flicked the whip a few inches closer to his rear without a sound.

Neah’s head jerked up with a sharp huff as though he sensed the encroaching threat, and his rump seemed to lower with his next few steps, hind legs pushing him forwards into the slack Allen had given him on the lead. His form shifting to something more compact, something more relaxed, and Link caught Allen’s grin as they turned to circle past Link once more.

 _“That’s_ better,” Allen encouraged, satisfied, and Neah ducked his head with a weighty huff before righting himself at a gentle pull from Allen’s grip on the lead. _“Much_ better. Good _boy,_ yes. Yes yes yes, keep that,” he rambled mindlessly to Neah, keeping the whip close enough to act as a reminder to not relax his form just because Allen’s voice was warm as honey with his praise. “Reckon we can try a trot?” he asked of Neah, and gave him a bit more slack at the lead before clicking his tongue sharply.

“C’mon,” _click,_ “c’mon,” _click._

Neah took a few high steps, too short and loose to classify as a real trot, before falling back into a stilted walk.

“C’mon,” Allen said again, clicked again, and flicked the whip an inch closer to his hind.

Neah picked his feet up, raised his head high, and even Link could see the way his rump lifted again. Front legs taking longer strides, back legs working only to keep up with himself.

Allen tutted, shook his head and pulled at the slack of the lead, tried to bring Neah’s head down. “His neck should be lower than a walk,” he explained, letting up on the slight pressure for a moment before pulling again, urging Neah down further, “and if he keeps pulling with his front like that he’s gonna exhaust himself.”

Neah huffed and snorted and shook his head, brought his hind legs beneath him when Allen urged him with the whip.

“Better,” he hummed, considering, and pulled the slightest pressure against Neah’s mouth once more before deciding, “Better,” with more certainty.

His legs kicked out neat and even, fine orange dust spraying with each heavy step.

“See his front legs,” Allen commented as Neah rounded the longside to direct his trot towards Link, the ground covered quicker than he thought it might be from his collected steps. “The way he kicks out like that - very nice, very flashy. Hard to train that, I think he just has an attitude.”

Link breathed a laugh at that as Neah passed the podium, rounding the shortside back towards the rail. Allen was right though, Link noticed as Neah circled to run parallel to the podium. Now that he was pushing from his hind, the way he picked his front legs up and flicked his hooves out was, for lack of a better term, _flashy._

“Show-off,” Allen commented good-naturedly, grinning when he turned to follow Neah’s circle.

They held that trot for a few minutes, and Allen didn’t let Neah get too far out of line. He was firm with his voice but gentle with the whip, and Link noticed that despite the way it flicked behind Neah’s back legs it never actually touched him.

At length, Allen asked, “When was he last worked, do you know?”

Link tilted his head as he watched Neah’s movements, hummed consideringly. “Sunday, perhaps? That was when Levellier was granted ownership.”

Allen gave a low whistle, and Link couldn’t quite tell if he was impressed or cautious. “Cool,” was all he said, and he didn’t sound… _particularly_ happy about it.

“Cool?” Link quoted, eyebrows arching.

Allen gave a long, ambivalent hum and kept his unwavering eyes pinned on the horse circling him. “He’s,” Allen started, slow and careful with his words, _“remarkably_ well behaved, for not having been touched for six days.”

“How, uh,” Link coughed lightly, nervous eyes flicking to Neah as he trotted past the podium again. “How so? What does that… mean?”

“Well,” Allen said, just as slow, just as inflectionless, “it either means he’s worth a whole lot more than he seems…”

Link swallowed. “Or?”

“Or this is a really fucking bad idea,” Allen finished blandly and clicked his tongue sharply, gave slack at Neah’s mouth and flicked the whip behind him.

Link’s shoulders squared back when Neah’s circle wavered for a few steps, almost shying away from the whip and ducking his head heartily. His rump lowered some more - he seemed to be putting more weight on his back legs, and when Allen clicked again he looked as though he skipped for a step or two, his hind low and his nose flared, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth from the sustained trot.

“C’mon,” Allen urged, voice low and a little bit dark. “Don’t shy on me, c’mon.” _Click._ “C’mon.” _Click._ “Canter, Punky, I know you can do it.”

And, well. The next time Allen showed him the whip, he certainly proved he _could._

If ‘doing it’ amounted to throwing his head down and launching himself haphazardly forwards with his hind legs kicking out into half a buck. He lifted his head up too high and continued that stumbling, dangerous gait, moving more sideways than forwards while Allen backed away hurriedly, pulling the lead taut and reeling Neah in as though he _wanted_ that thing near him.

 _“Hey,”_ he bit, short and commanding, but with that same undercurrent of smooth reassurance. “Hey, hey hey hey,” he said, and Link wasn’t quite sure how he managed that balance of tone between firm and gentle. Sharp and kind.

 _“No,”_ he reprimanded when Neah tried to take the opportunity to slow to a trot, and flicked the whip in the smallest gesture, a reminder that set Neah off shying and kicking again. “You’re not _stopping,”_ Allen growled, pulling at the lead in his hand to urge Neah’s head down, still backing away from his messy, slapdash circle. “Fucking around does not earn you _breaks,_ dumbass. Wanna try that again, without the stupid overreaction this time?”

Probably not, Link thought, and Neah seemed to be on the same wavelength as him when Allen shortened the rope again, putting more pressure on his mouth when he refused to lower his head.

And he lowered it, alright. Lowered it down to his knees, tilted sideways, and his scattered charge cut across the circle towards Allen. Allen, who somehow made sidestepping a charging horse look easy, and Link recognised the sharp, angry sound that tore from his throat. A bitter reprimand that left no room for argument.

“I swear,” Allen gritted as Neah fell back into his circle, both of them keeping a shrewd eye on the other as Allen eased up on Neah’s mouth, let him stretch his neck out a touch high than where it’d sat at a trot, “if you shy and buck one more time,” Allen warned, giving Neah another round to clean up his act, “you’re gonna be galloping around this ring. Sound like fun?”

Neah forced out a snorting breath like an irritable sneeze and tossed his head but didn’t do anything drastic. Link could hear the low whistle of his withers working when he cantered past. Too fast, too messy, his frame sloppy and his head all over the place.

“Head up,” Allen instructed, giving slack at Neah’s mouth that he refused to take, instead ducking his head down and lunging a couple of angry steps. “Head _up,”_ Allen commanded, pulling lightly at the rope until Neah tossed his head up too high, arrogant and pissed.

Allen, when he turned to face Link, following Neah’s circle, looked murderous.

 _“Down,”_ he gritted, pulling lightly at the slack. “Don’t be a fucky little punk,” he seethed, and as soon as Neah lowered his head to where Allen wanted him, he sighed happily and gave such a beatific smile that Link was a little taken aback with the 180.

 _“Thank_ you,” he praised, voice sweet as sugar, and Link tried not to let his incredulous eyebrows raise too high. “Now we just have to fix this ugly canter of yours,” Allen said, breezy, and gave Neah another circle to figure out that was where Allen wanted him to keep his head.

Carefully, Allen lifted the whip where Neah could see it following his hind from the corner of his dark, angry eye. He snorted a bitter chuff, and ducked his head irritably before lifting it back to where Allen had asked him to hold it. Allen put pressure on the lead for half a moment before flicking the whip an inch.

It didn’t go well.

He tossed his head right up, eyes wide and wild, harsh breath snorting from his nose when Allen stumbled forwards a step, the rest of the lead tearing through his hand as Neah shied away, side-stepping and kicking while Allen righted himself, planted his heels in the soft dirt and wrenched at Neah’s mouth, hard and unforgiving.

The horse twisted, feet scattering orange dirt when it turned to face Allen, head low and sides blowing heavily, nose flared while he glared balefully at the wrathful young man in the center of the arena.

Allen took a step closer and Neah tried to twist and lunge away, and while he jerked Allen’s arm, the stable hand was stubborn and sturdy and unrelenting with how he tugged back, that angry yell tearing from his throat again. “DON’T,” he barked, reeling he ornery horse in, meeting him step for resistant step, “MAKE ME RIP,” Link wasn’t quite sure when he’d gotten to his feet, but he found himself standing at the edge of the dais, not quite sure how or when to intervene, “YOUR FUCKING,” Allen growled, dropping the whip in the sand and coming close enough to strike Neah hard against his dark, sweaty shoulder with the flat of his palm, “TEETH OUT,” he continued, incensed, and jerked Neah’s head down with his unrelenting grip on the lead when the horse tried to shy away from the strike, “YOU PUNKY,” Allen continued, and lifted his hand to lay another slap on him, finishing, “BITCH,” with another hit, letting the lead run loose from his hand this time when Neah jerked away.

Allen let the lead unravel, fury falling away from his shoulders when Neah took up his sloppy canter in an attempt to get as far away from him as the rope would allow.

He heaved a sharp, heavy sigh, forcing all the frustration out of his small body, and followed the ring Neah instinctively ran around him, eyes still hard as diamonds.

“Renny,” Allen griped from between gritted teeth, “fucking Epstain.”

“What happened?” Link demanded, anxiety hidden beneath the severity of his tone.

“Fuckin’ trauma at the whip, is what,” Allen hissed, watching Neah’s canter with unwavering focus. “Hate that heavy-handed psychotic- _yes, thank you!”_ he cried, suddenly jubilant, and Link glanced at where Neah seemed to have caught his breath and eased his panic.

His head was in place, frame still messy but nothing near the unrefined stumble he’d been using before. He still seemed to be dragging from his front, neck stiff and hind high, but he was _collected_ and he was _refined,_ and Link glanced at the whip lying forgotten in the dirt.

“God, thank you,” Allen breathed, letting him run without trying to overwhelm him with any corrections, “that is. Beautiful. Needs work,” he admitted, “and I’d say his trot’ll be his best pace, but that. Has promise.”

Allen stepped behind Neah a little, held his empty hand out where he’d had the whip before, and clicked his fingers gently.

“C’mon,” he cooed gently, following Neah’s circle, clicking his fingers in louder increments until Neah’s ears were flicking back to catch the sound, “c’mon, c’mon, _yes,_ that is _good, yes!”_

And there it was - the form Allen had been looking for. Hind legs reaching under him, front stretching out to fill the gait. Neck supple, back loose, rump down. He was blowing, puffing heavy from maintaining the stride, and there was foam around his closed mouth, behind his legs.

“I’ll have to see if he can shorten his stride,” Allen commented, all the anger and frustration gone from his voice as quickly as it’d come. “Still a bit long - he’s trying to cover too much ground, and that’s really not the point. We’re not racing here, angel,” he teased Neah, good-natured and found, and Neah shook his head with a weighty huff.

 _“Oh,”_ Allen sighed happily, maintaining Neah’s canter with a light touch on the lead and the hand held out behind him, watching his form with proud appraisal. “That is. _Beautiful,_ we can really do something with that. Can you trot for me?” he prompted the horse, lowering his hand and giving slack at Neah’s mouth.

Neah’s ears flicked at the sound he made - something like a rolled R or G, at the back of his throat. Long and low and soothing. Neah shortened his canter, hopped a step or two before falling into an easy trot.

“Transitions need work,” Allen hummed, and let that slack on the lead stay there, let Neah duck his head and huff heavy snorts where he wanted, “but his trot’s a lot better once he’s been cantered properly - back’s nice and loose, don’t have to tell him to bring his back legs in.”

Link nodded, watching, and Allen made that strange rolling sound again, until Neah let his trot fall and slump into a walk that quickly turned lazy when he noticed Allen wasn’t pulling at his lead to keep his head up.

“C’mere,” Allen hummed, happy and warm, and gently pulled Neah’s circle smaller until he came to a stop in front of Allen and heaved a long, exhausted breath.

Allen wrinkled his nose and wiped a spot of foam from his arm before reaching up to unclip the side reins from Neah’s bit, buckling the ends back onto the saddle. The horse stretched his neck out, long and low, and shook his head like he was relieved to be rid of them.

“Good boy,” Allen murmured, giving a hearty pat to Neah’s neck while the horse ground his jaw around the bit. “Sorry ‘bout the whip, Punky. We’ll have to sort that out, huh?” he hummed and reached between Neah’s legs to unclip the longe from his girth. Unthreading it from the bridle, Allen coiled the lead up in his hand and gave a light tug to one of the reins to urge Neah into following beside him while he walked towards the podium where Link was still standing dumbly, stooping to pick up the whip as he walked past.

“So,” he said, grinning cheekily up at Link with the horse plodding behind him unattended, “you like him?”

“It was impressive,” Link admitted, took the lead and whip from Allen without prompting and put them back where they belonged. “He listens to your voice,” he commented, shooting a quick frown at Neah. “I didn’t think he could do that.”

“He’s a bit more responsive than most,” Allen laughed easily, running his fingers through Neah’s forelock and tugging it good-naturedly until the horse shook his head and butted his nose against Allen’s arm. “It’s good. If he’s too sensitive to touch, I want to be able to give him vocal aids where I can.”

“He’s not,” Link started, then stopped, watching where Allen was absently running his hand down Neah’s hot, bowed neck in firm, fond strokes, the horse just letting it happen with tired, half-lidded eyes. “Bitey,” he ended up saying, and Allen laughed again, gave Neah’s shoulder another healthy pat before pinching one of the reins and urging him to follow Allen towards the gate at the end of the arena.

“All worn out,” he said cheerfully, and Neah heaved another heavy snort as though he might have _liked_ to nip at Allen’s elbow, but really just couldn’t be assed. “I’d usually do his right side too, but I think he’ll benefit from being eased into new training. Don’t want to stress him out, and he’s probably already confused enough with how different things are.”

“Is that fine?” Link ensured, following them along the road outside the arena.

Allen shrugged and hummed, “Not usually, but I’ll work his right side tomorrow to balance and that should just about do it for an introductory period.”

They made their way back up the laneway to the top stables, and Allen let Neah snuff at the grass along the way, but kept a hand on one of his reins to keep him from nibbling at it. “Looks messy,” he reasoned with a shrug when Link asked about it. “Unprofessional. Lazy, you know?”

Neah plodded easily into the crossties, and Allen didn’t waste any time unbuckling his bridle and sliding it off over his ears. Neah shook his head like he was relieved to be rid of it, and Allen poked his chest as a warning to not go anywhere while he took the bridle to a nearby hose and washed off all the foam and sweat that had gotten on it before hanging it on a hook with a few other leather straps and buckles.

“Wanna get him a carrot or two from the fridge?” Allen prompted, and Link blinked at him, trying not to look too horrified, while Allen studiously went back to Neah and slid his halter over his nose, strapped it behind his sweaty ears and clipped him properly into the crossties.

“Sure,” Link said, stilted, and strode into the cool stable. He felt eyes on him as he opened the rusty fridge, and glanced around surreptitiously. Tyki Mikk wasn’t watching him over the door of his stall, and the palomino was out in her paddock. Cautiously, Link glanced over his shoulder, up at the large piles of hay stacked almost three meters high.

Two yellow eyes looked down at him, caught in the glow from the fridge.

Link saw a pink tongue flash between sharp white teeth and tried to remember if anyone had ever been killed by a common house cat.

He swallowed, turned his back on Kimmy’s ominous shadow, and pulled out the heavy drawer of the crisper, absolutely stacked with carrots. He picked two that were nice and big and orange, slid the drawer closed with a little difficulty, and closed the fridge.

“Is your cat a demon?” he asked when he came out the walkthrough, holding the two carrots out to Allen while he hung the side reins up on the hook with Neah’s bridle.

“Probably,” Allen shrugged ambivalently, and ducked back beneath Neah’s ties to get at his girth without so much as a glance at the carrots. “You wanna feed him?”

Link’s lips tightened, and he looked at the sweaty, tired-looking horse. He didn’t look particularly dangerous right then, but Link was given to suspicion. He stepped forwards carefully and held out one of the carrots, flat on his palm.

Neah gave him a tired, scathing look, dipped his nose to Link’s hand and moved his surprisingly soft lips, tilted his head, trying to find purchase on the treat.

“Hold it upright,” Allen instructed, ducking under Neah’s neck to get at the other side of the girth, “so he can bite it off.”

Shoulders tense, Link pulled his hand away, and Neah shook his head and stamped one of his hind legs in annoyance. Carefully grasping the end, Link held it out for him again.

Neah seemed to take great joy in taking almost the whole thing into his mouth, blunt teeth crunching through the treat a few centimeters from Link’s fingers. His eyes were mocking when he crunched the carrot between his back molars, mild gaze unwavering from Link’s face.

“I don’t think he likes me,” Link announced while Allen ducked out from the narrow stall to wash the sweat from Neah’s girth before hanging it over a rail with five others.

“Nah,” Allen hummed happily and walked back over, took the other carrot from Link’s hand and held it under Neah’s nose. “He just thinks you’re scared of him.”

Link arched a brow, didn’t bother to admit _I am_ while he watched Allen break off the carrot between Neah’s teeth with practiced ease before pressing the end of it against his lips for him to take. He just backed off, let himself meld into the unobtrusive background of red gardenias and overgrown mint that lined the edge of the concrete.

“Whether you are or not doesn’t matter,” Allen added, shooting him another cheeky grin, and ducked back under the ties to get at Neah’s saddle after an indulgent moment spent scratching his brow. “Just don’t let _him_ know that.”

“Easy,” Link muttered, dry as anything, and was probably a little bit ashamed of the way he stumbled back at the needle-sharp pain of Kimmy attaching herself to his leg, an undignified sound falling from his lips when he stepped into a bowl of water that had been left out for Lavi.

Allen, however, found it absolutely hilarious. “Onya,” he laughed, hoisting the saddle and blankets off Neah’s back and onto the rail of the crossties.

“Um,” Link said stiffly, ignoring the light blush in his cheeks while he bent down to pick Kimmy up under her armpits, extricating her claws from his leg. “What?” he asked, glancing confusion at Allen.

He arched a brow, lifted the sweat-soaked rugs from under the saddle and went to hang them near a dusty old washing machine sitting dormant near Tyki’s stall. “Good on ‘ya,” Allen repeated, and shot a pointed look at Link’s wet ankle and shoe.

“Oh,” Link muttered, and shot what he hoped was a reprimanding look at Kimmy.

She licked her lips at him, unnerving eyes unwavering from his face, and Link wondered if it should be cute or disturbing. After a moment he bent to put her down, not a riddle he was willing to try solve today.

“Are you,” he started to ask, looking back up at Allen, and then bit off the rest of the question.

“What?” Allen entreated, teasing, coming back to lean against the crossties.

“No,” Link waved it off, “never mind.”

Allen arched a brow, and flicked Neah’s nose when he tried to nibble at his elbow.

After a moment, Link rushed to start again, “So,” but quickly cut himself off. “You’re not from Brisbane,” he ended up saying, watching Allen’s grey eyes narrow in teasing amusement, “are you?”

Allen’s face melted into a grin and he ducked his head, scuffing his heel with a quiet laugh. Looking up at Link under his brows, he mocked, “Nah, really that obvious?” Link shrugged, embarrassed, and Allen straightened up, ducked down to pull the guards from Neah’s shins. “Yeah, Cross used to have a small property up north, around the Mackay region. Fucked conditions for horses up there,” he added, strapping the hind guards around those for his front legs and lobbing them into a couple of tubs not far away. “Too hot, too humid,” he listed, unclipping Neah from the ties and pulling free the knot tying his lead to the rail, “and the tropical storms in summer were the _worst,”_ he added, clicking his tongue gently to urge Neah out of the ties and into the walkthrough.

“Not the rural accent, then,” Link commented, dry, and decided to follow them when Allen laughed.

 _“Please,_ Dink,” he snorted, leading Neah through the stable and out to the gravel road on the other side, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He cast a glance over his shoulder, caught the pained look that flashed across Link’s face, and laughed louder. “How ‘bout them double negatives, huh?” he teased, and Link grimaced.

“Please,” he begged, stilted, “no.”

“Alright,” Allen laughed, and Link breathed a quiet sigh of relief when it didn’t come out as ‘arrite’, or something as equally messy, “so I think the plan is,” he announced, leading Neah into a brick bay with a hose hanging from the rafters, shampoos and brushes sitting atop the brick walls, “I’ll longe him through next week, see how he moves, what he needs work on, just get him into a routine.” He wheeled the horse around and clipped him into the ties, tested the faucet and checked that the trigger hose was on a shower setting before directing it at Neah.

The horse jolted at the cold water, lifted his head higher the further up his neck Allen tried to spray him, nose flared, not quite certain on how to deal with the situation.

“I’ll probably ride him Saturday morning, if you’d like to come and watch,” Allen commented lightly, making sure Neah’s hot neck was soaked through to the skin before moving down his sweaty body, spraying out the dark stain the saddle and girth had left on him.

And Link, well. He was going to say no. He was going to say it had nothing to do with him. The word was on the tip of his tongue and all he had to do was open his mouth and let it out.

But there was something behind Allen’s smile, some kind of energetic expectation.

_Pride._

He’d had a taste of Neah, knew what he could do, and more than anything Allen wanted to show him off.

This boy who let Cross Marian take credit for a horse he trained, who called Neah _angel_ and _darling_ when he got nervous, named him Punky when he started acting up. Who called Tyki _idiot_ when he was playing nicely, and _dumb shithead_ when he was wreaking havoc for the hell of it.

Who, so long as he was Cross Marian’s stable hand, would never be anything more. Who was _satisfied_ with that, because it allowed him to do what he loved with creatures he loved.

He wanted credit, but not for himself.

He wanted an audience, but he couldn’t care less if their eyes were on him.

Link swallowed back that little word, that _no,_ and replaced it with another so that when he opened his mouth and let, “Sure,” fall past his lips, the radiance that Allen cast on Neah wasn’t diminished a bit.

“You don’t have to watch every time he’s longed,” Allen rushed to reassure, wetting down Neah’s rump and hind legs before ducking under his neck, passing the hose to himself over Neah’s dripping mane, “obviously. But it’d be good if you could come once a week or so,” he shrugged, turning the hose on the other side of the horse’s body. “Watch him being ridden, see his progress, you know.” He cast a cheeky glance under Neah’s chin at Link, eyes sly when he entreated, “Tell your boss how his investment is doing.”

Link ignored him, annoyed partly that he would be doing just that, and partly because Levellier probably wouldn’t care a lick until the moment Link was asking for the fee to enrol him into a competition. “What days will you be working him?” he asked rather than get into that.

“Five a week,” Allen said simply, “but you’re welcome to come on any you like. Tuesday nights are always fun - Sheril and Tricia are both here, and it’s hilarious to watch him try to charm her into handing over Lulu.”

Link tried not to grimace at Allen’s wayward definition of _fun,_ and asked, “Do you take weekends off?” He could bear to sacrifice his Saturday morning sleep-in, his Sunday evening. It was all just time, and wasted as it was right now.

Allen seemed to think that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, from the way he threw his head back and laughed while he hooked the hose over the brick wall of the bay and twisted off the faucet. “If I took one _morning_ off,” he scoffed, reaching for a squeegee and scraping it down Neah’s neck, pressing the water out of his short, sleek fur, “things would fall apart here.”

“How about we lock it in for Saturday then?” Link proposed, pulling his phone from his pocket and opening his calendar.

“Same time?” Allen offered, and Link shot him a small, polite smile.

Well, it was genuine. But it was polite too. “Why not,” he said, and set a weekly reminder for the rest of the month.

“You have anywhere to be today?” Allen hummed, ambivalent, flicking water off Neah’s wide belly.

“Not particularly,” Link allowed. He usually had a light brunch at a cafe down the road from his apartment and worked on some of next week’s paperwork, but, well. It wasn’t exactly a lock-in appointment.

“Want another coffee before you head off, then?” Allen proposed, ducking around Neah and shooting Link a smile so bright and charming it honestly left him feeling a little dazed. “Although, we have only got instant,” he teased over his shoulder, and when he turned his head back to check his work on drying this side of Neah’s body, Link noticed a small tattoo behind his ear. A tiny daisy, tangled up in the copper field of his messy hair.

“I’d love to,” he said, and wasn’t quite sure why such an insignificant little thing could make his stomach swoop like that.


End file.
